


Full Circle

by Scientia_Fantasia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: :'''), Albinism, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Asexual Character, Autistic Character, Communication, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Nonverbal Communication, Side Spain/South Italy, Signing Character, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, selective mutism, side GerIta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-05-28 00:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6305959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scientia_Fantasia/pseuds/Scientia_Fantasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roderich is a romantic at heart who wants nothing more than to find his soulmate, as cryptic as his mark is. Gilbert is selectively mute and hates the whole idea. Guess what happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think the idea for this fic first started out as a little spark in my head when I read this: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3434336 and then began to haunt me for months on end. In short, it's the "you have the first words your soulmate says to you tattooed on you" thing.
> 
> So, here's this.

Words.

Words, words, words, quotes inked onto skin and etched into the brains of every gullible romantic across the wide world, hoping that one day they’d hear a voice and suddenly everything would fall into place, the skies would open up, those words would stop going through their head every day, they’d find theirs on someone else’s and their life could begin.

Words were important. Powerful. Contracts, prophesies.

Shackles.

Gilbert was mute.

No, not entirely, but he liked that word. _Only_ that word, the power of it, the look on people’s faces, the pity that stirred up some strange self-congratulatory hatred, a pained smirk when he realized, _yeah, this one’s just like the rest._ Another person who put too much into words, too much significance, too much meaning, too much value. Another one who tried to take away his hands and keyboards and pencils, if not physically then sometimes in ways that were even worse–at least if someone snatched his phone away he could grab it back. If someone simply refused to read those words, to listen to the flat mechanical inflection, looked him in the eye and said, “ _now, I_ know _you can speak, I’ve_ heard _you, why do we have to keep playing this game?_ “ there was nothing to do. No way to argue if you didn’t speak the language (and wanted to keep out of jail).

The methods, the words changed once he was thirteen, eighteen, twenty. Twenty three, now. The words were always changing, but the meaning was always the same, the look behind unreading eyes. Words were nothing, not to him. Words were weapons, power, yes–but not something _he_ could fight with. And did he ever like to fight.

Some people spoke with words, and fought with words. Gilbert had his hands. They would do.

The only words that stuck around with him, through thick and thin, brain fog or not, were the ones on the back of his neck. Black, bright against his white skin. A sentence, he knew, in a thin, curling script--he sometimes caught the edges of it when mirrors were angled the right (wrong) way, but mostly he kept his hair long enough to obscure it, if not cover it completely.

He didn’t know what it said. Strangers would gape at him if he’d admitted that, but he didn’t admit it to strangers. He told it to people who would pause, nod, and know that that was just _him_. He didn’t care. Rather, he didn’t want to know. He only had a vague memory, and that was enough, a memory of someone reading it to him and that wall going up in his mind, tears welling up in his eyes, and that was enough.

Fuck soulmates. Fuck words. Fuck destiny and all that shit. He would date who he wanted and sleep with who he wanted and love who he wanted and those words, prickling the back of his neck, waiting, demanding, would have nothing to do with any of it.

Anyone who believed in that shit was just–

* * *

 

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous, that was simply the only word for it; for that blank space, spanning his pale hands, staring back at him over the keys of pianos, over sheets of paper and pencils, a gaping expanse where there should be something, but there never was. Never would be.

Roderich was a realist.

Except he wasn’t, really, but that’s how he saw himself, what he liked to be, wanted to be, out of stubbornness and grit teeth. A composer, a realist? Maybe not the likeliest of combinations, but he still held his chin high and peered through the bottom of his glasses, sat stick stiff at his piano, stuck the words “don’t be ridiculous” into anyone who seemed to get too far off the ground, adjusted his clean black gloves in any weather–he liked the look of them, that was all. His music, perhaps, was his one escape, and he wrote songs that were a bit more flighty and bright than a passing stranger might expect of him. Every so often one might find him smiling wistfully at his piano as a twinkling tune sprang from his fingertips.

Those who weren’t passing strangers had listened to enough of his writing, listened, not simply heard, to know that Roderich was a romantic, and a lovesick one at that. A formidable combination, and one that led to a considerable amount of holing up in a music room and writing, and writing, something that might be labeled other things if creatives weren’t given so much leeway with their eccentricities.

There were supposed to be words. Somewhere. Somewhere, words that allowed him a moment of respite, a promise, the knowledge that somewhere, sometime, someone would take his hand (blank, blank hands, accursedly silent), and smile, and the music would come all on its own.

He had, on his left hand, disconnected lines, stuttering a curve over his knuckles, sweeping under the bottom of his palm and up his thumb. Everyone else had words. Everyone he knew. Everyone in stories, books, television. Everyone, he was sure of it, except for him.

Most people assumed they were somewhere, and the people who stopped assuming received a lie. Of _course_ they were somewhere, but that was a secret, and Roderich would rather not mess with fate (his heart giving a painful thud), perhaps it was better he kept those words to himself.

Some knew about the lines, and knew not to mention them.

But he knew. And he knew that there was a chance he was just meant to be alone. He knew that–but he couldn’t let himself believe it. He still found himself running his fingers over the marks and wondering if they meant something else. Hoping, quietly, softly, that there was someone. Someone who would make sense of them. That one day it would all click into place.

_Sigh._

* * *

 

One would think that after spending this long in the city, he would have figured out how to avoid rush hour by now.

One would be wrong.

He composed, performed, and he taught occasionally, because he wasn’t to the point where music could keep him comfortably fed, housed, _and_ clothed, and he preferred to be all three. But he taught on his schedule, could deny times if he really wanted to, yet somehow the moment a six o’clock opened up, he would write someone else there, only realizing hours later that he had been trying to _avoid_ that particular time slot.

Hence his being crammed into a subway car, though at least having the luck to be able to wrap an arm around an unoccupied pole, thankful for the small amount of space the metal enforced. He held it in the crook of his elbow and put his gloved hand in the pocket of his (dark purple, knee length) coat, the other holding his briefcase warily in front of him.

It wasn’t so bad, really. He was used to it, and could navigate his way through a crowd easily enough. Sure, he didn’t really like touching people, but he would survive. _Did_ survive, usually without incident, but this time…

Someone was staring at him. The man sitting at a space just far enough away to be behind him–old at first glance, but at second glance not. It was just the white hair that fooled him. And Roderich took his fair share of glances, noticing each time out of the corner of his eye that the pale blue gaze--purple?--was fixed firmly on the side of his face. He tried not to turn red at the attention, anxiety bubbling up in his chest. Was he being targeted? Less insidious, but still somehow on his mind–was there something on his face?

He spent a few long minutes fidgeting with the pen in his pocket (click-click, click-click, click-click. 2/4 time, half notes, staccato) and the situation in his head before deciding that he really would rather not spend his whole commute like this, and turned to meet that gaze, frowning.

The man glanced away for a second, but then met his eyes again, sinking into his seat, chin slipping away behind a thick (tattered) scarf.

“If you have something to say, then say it,” Roderich snapped, not expending his patience on a stranger.

The man blinked, opened his mouth–then closed it, scowling and finally looking away. After a moment, he pulled his left hand from his pocket and made a fist with it, placing it on his chest and making a circular motion. His gaze fell to the floor.

Roderich blinked, irritation dissipating in lieu of piqued interest, now that it seemed this stranger didn’t have any aggressive intent. The motion stirred something in his mind, like it was an action he should recognize. He didn’t, beyond the passive body language.

Then the man was making another motion–he pointed at Roderich, which held obvious enough meaning, before making a gesture down across his face, starting with an open hand at his forehead and then coming down to a closed one near his chin, fingers forming a point.

“Um,” went Roderich, softly. “My…face?” He felt a twinge of shame at his lack of comprehension.

The stranger shook his head briefly, and then made the second gesture a couple times, faster, with an intent frown–and then interrupted himself, turning his hand up in dismissal and huffing. The car went over a particularly rough spot while he thought something over, Roderich tightening his grip on the pole as the passengers swayed.

Once again, the man gestured, though these were much more pointed and…simplistic. He used both hands this time, as if to make himself louder, and made three motions–he pointed at Roderich, then framed his own face between his hands, and then gave two thumbs up, eyebrows raised.

Roderich’s own eyebrows mirrored his. Was he…? “My face is…good?” he guessed, not wanting to venture his actual interpretation at risk of inciting violence. He knew better than to insinuate that strangers, _male_ strangers, were flirting with him.

The man rolled his eyes, obviously frustrated at this point, and pulled his phone out. Roderich wondered if that meant their conversation was over, but then the phone was being turned around to face him, and he leaned down slightly to read the words on the screen.

“YOU’RE PRETTY”

“Oh,” he said, mouth hanging open for a moment. That seemed…like an awfully trivial thing to spend all that time trying to say, but he supposed that was mostly his own fault. “I…thank you.”

The man huffed, and stuck his hands back in his pockets, turning away. Now that Roderich got a decent look at him, he was actually quite…striking, was probably the word. His hair was the most noticeable feature, as even his eyelashes were white, though his eyebrows were dark and thick, perhaps self-consciously colored in. That was…endearing, somehow. Also, a pointed nose with a prominent bridge, a strong jawline, hints of barely-visible stubble…

Roderich suddenly realized that now he was the one staring, and looked away, cheeks growing warm. He really shouldn’t be this taken after only a simple compliment, but…he _was_ handsome, and if the opportunity was there…

They pulled into a station, and suddenly the stranger was gathering himself and getting up to exit. Roderich’s heart leapt, and before his mind caught up with his hand, he’d reached out and grabbed the man’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.

The stranger looked up at him–no, up from the floor, but _down_ to actually meet his face–and Roderich flushed. _Why had he done that?_ He couldn’t stop him from leaving, that would be…well, he just couldn’t, so he only had a few moments to–

Making up his mind, he pulled out a business card from his breast pocket and a pen from another and scribbled down his cell phone number (there was already a number on the front, but it wasn’t for personal calls), before holding it out, biting the inside of his mouth.

The man took it, looking over it curiously. “Text me?” Roderich asked, suddenly feeling very, very foolish. He really, really did not make a habit of giving his number out to people he just met, especially on the subway, but…but…

The stranger rested the card over his mouth and smirked, red-rimmed eyes narrowing in something like amusement. Then he winked, and left, and Roderich stood there, staring at the busy platform.

That was either a good idea, or a very, very bad one.


	2. Chapter 2

Gilbert fiddled with the lock for a few seconds, sticking and unsticking his key before finally opening his apartment door with a, “West, I’m home!”

He was sure his brother knew already, given how long he’d had to fight with the lock, but it was a matter of ritual. He took his scarf off and threw it on the hat rack right inside before going in and finding his brother sitting at their dining room table, frowning at his laptop. A binder and a few neat stacks of paper occupied the rest of the area in arms reach. Must have been a school thing.

He walked over to the table regardless, grinning widely. “Hey, guess what happened to me on my way to Antonio’s house.”

West raised his eyebrows, typing a few more words before looking up at him.

“There was this guy on the train and--” he dug through the pockets in his hoodie, feeling for what he was looking for “--oh, here's what I got from the job.” He dug out a few wrinkled bills and some coins, placing them on the table and picking out a stray gum wrapper from the mess. “I refilled my meds on the way home, so.”

“Ah, good,” his brother said, some emotion lacing his voice and pinching his brow. Gilbert swallowed thickly at his sudden anxiety, but pushed it away.

“Anyways, there was this guy and he was way cute and I told him so, I mean I signed at him and he didn't understand but...” he realized, after accidentally catching his ear, that he was signing along with his speech, and shook his hand as if to get the words out of it. “I got it eventually, and look!” He pulled out the business card with hurried, looping ink on the back, and slammed it on the table. “He gave me his number!”

“Did he?” West said, already looking back at his computer.

“Yeah, and he was like, _way_ cute, he got all flustered when I complimented him and everything. Anyways, how's Feli?”

His brother answered between keystrokes. “He's...well.”

Gilbert frowned, and West stared at his screen for a moment longer before sighing, and leaned back in his chair. “Sorry,” he said, looking truly apologetic. “I really need to write this outline. Let's talk over dinner, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, placing a hand on West's shoulder. “Don't overwork yourself, okay little brother?”

“I won’t.” He finally smiled, waving Gilbert’s hand away. “I promise.”

He slunk back towards his room, but not without getting one more word in. “Good. I'm gonna be back to check on you. You better still be alive.”

“I will be.”

“You better!”

* * *

 

He was supposed to be composing. He _had_ been composing, past-tense, but had somehow ended up playing through a few of his favorite works instead, caught up in the ease at which the notes sprang from his fingers without having to coax them out from his mind first, his pile of sheet music left abandoned on top of his piano along with a pen and a quickly cooling cup of tea.

His procrastination, however, somehow paid off when a melody trailed off course into something new, and he leapt at his paper to capture the notes before they escaped, shamefully sloppy flags only barely readable, but readable nonetheless.

Once they were safely written down, he noticed a light flashing on his phone. After looking over his papers one more time to make sure there was nothing else he needed to capture, he reached for his phone and unlocked it, looking over the notifications. There were three messages from an unknown number (and a useless notification from something he hadn’t figured out how to turn off yet. He dismissed it). Navigating to the appropriate app, he found that they were: “ _hey there stranger ;)_ ” and “ _this is the handsome guy from the train_ ” and then “ _or just the guy. i mean you dont usually going around giving out your numbers to people on public transport right”_

Roderich smiled at the screen, the grammatical hiccups in the sentence almost going unnoticed. Well...this was it, wasn’t it? He was having a conversation with a perfect stranger purely based on physical attraction. At least he hadn’t decided to start this new habit at a bar, because that would imply something entirely different.

Well. Something entirely different than what he _hoped_ he was implying here.

He pushed down the small amount of anxiety stirring up in his throat, and tapped a nail against the side of his phone, thinking over his reply. “ _Hello, stranger_ ,” he wrote back. “ _I assume you have a name?_ ”

He set his phone down and went back to his playing, knowing full well that he’d been texted a while ago and the reply might not come anytime soon.

Might not. But it did. Not a minute into his song his phone chimed again (how had he missed that the first three times?) and he picked it up to reply.

“ _gilbert. so do i get to ask you on a date or what”_

He let out an amused breath. Well, he was definitely forward.

“ _I was hoping I could get to know a little bit about you first.”_

“ _haha. are you screening me? what would i say for you to say no?”_

He took a moment to parse that sentence.

_“If you were very much younger or older than me I would have to decline, or perhaps had a profession I object to strongly. So maybe we should start there.”_

_“okkkkk..........lets play a game. ill tell u stuff about me but whatever i say you have to say about yurself too. and you can say stuff too under the same rules. no questions if u wanna know something u gotta tell me it about you first. ok?”_

_“That seems fair. Go ahead.”_

He wasn’t entirely sure why it needed to be a _game_ , exactly, and not just a civil conversation, but there was potential for it to be interesting. Maybe. Maybe it was just cover for this _Gilbert_ to hide something, but...Roderich could easily get it out of him anyways, couldn’t he? So what was the point?

The next message took a while to arrive, but once he saw the dense block of text in his inbox, the delay wasn’t that surprising.

“ _ok so im gilbert beilschmidt and im unemployed i guess but sometimes my friends get jobs around the city like moving stuff and i help out which pays pretty well. thats a freebie bc i know ur roderich edelstein and u teach piano from your card. unless this is old idk. if it is you gotta tell me. then...im 23 but im turning 24 soon I live with my awesome baby brother in a shitty little city apartment. im bi and dont usually hit on ppl on public transit. also my dick is 7 inch rock hard >:P YOUR TURN”_

“What?” Roderich found himself exclaiming as his face burned red. Was that _really_ an appropriate fact to reveal in your first conversation with someone??

He rubbed his forehead, debating on whether or not to carry on this conversation. Was this really the man who struggled to compliment him on the subway? Somehow he’d assumed he was...well...more delicate.

But he supposed he didn’t really have any reason to think that. He shouldn’t be upset at someone for not meeting the expectations he’d created before even talking to them.

He did, however, feel perfectly justified in being upset that someone would uninvitedly bring up their genitals in an introductory conversation and, he realized with some shock, _expect him to reciprocate_.

But, well...

He sighed, and replied anyways.

“ _I’m glad to know you have absolutely no tact to speak of. I do indeed teach piano, though I also make a considerable amount of money composing and performing it as well. I’m also 23, oddly enough, though my birthday isn’t anytime soon. I live alone in a pleasant apartment. I suppose if you were to put labels on me I would be a homoromantic asexual, who doesn’t really hit on people in general. And I can’t say I’ve ever measured, thank you.”_

_“ok....1. are you mad or do you just always type like that 2. whats homoromantic asexual 3. dont fuckin lie”_

_“I thought questions weren’t allowed?”_

_“ur allowed to ask about what u said already!!!”_

He laughed to himself, closing the lid over his piano keys.

“ _Am I allowed to ask when your birthday is, then, since you mentioned it? To answer your questions: 1. I am a bit shocked at your forwardness, but no, I wouldn’t say I’m mad. And I think 2 and 3 have the same answer. It basically means that I’m gay but have no interest in sex. Asexual means different things to different people, but that’s what it means for me.”_

_“no. & thats weird what do you mean you dont like sex? i thought eveyrone did”_

_“What sort of questions AM I allowed to ask, then? And no, not everyone does. Though I thought the same thing before I actually had it and realized I wasn’t a fan. I probably wouldn’t have tried in the first place if I knew I wasn’t required to like it.”_

_“q’s like that. ok so what if someone hasnt fucked anyone but like doesnt rly see what the big deal is. like they dont rly want to but maybe if they tried it they would like it?”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“i mean is that asexual?? or just being weird???”_

_“Someone’s asexual if they identify as asexual. But yes, that does sound like someone who might be.”_

_“ok........that still weird but maybe im asex too. anyways its ur turn! >:( tell me about yourself”_

Ah. Interesting. That wasn’t usually the reaction he got after explaining his orientation...well, the weird part for sure, but...he smiled, feeling a bit of fondness blooming. Perhaps this wouldn’t work out romantically, but they may still be able to be friends. He would feel bad leaving a fellow ace out in the cold, after all.

What to say about himself, though...he’d already revealed what he felt was the pertinent information. He was in his 20’s. He loved music. If you came to him looking for sex you were talking to the wrong person. He wasn’t sure where else to go from there.

...perhaps he was just a little bit boring.

There were many things he wanted to know about Gilbert, however. Namely the reason for his signing on the train. Was he deaf? He had understood Roderich well enough, but perhaps he was lip reading? Then there was his appearance...

He frowned, leaning on his piano. How could he ask about that without being rude?

Actually...how could he ask about that without even asking questions?

Huh. Perhaps there was something to this game after all.

_“Well...I enjoy listening to music. Mostly classical, given my profession, but I have an appreciation for all kinds. I enjoy singing but I’m not very good at it. I also speak two languages, English and German. You?”_

_“ME TOO >:(“_

He blinked. That didn’t seem like the friendliest response. Maybe he’d overstepped his boundaries? Though with what Gilbert had already said to him, those boundaries were going to be incredibly hard to draw.

_“Did I break the rules?”_

_“no but i see what ur trying to do and im not answering!!! so ME TOO except i like rap and rock and im actually trilingual bc i know ASL too so HA HA HA. my brother and i were born in germany but we moved here when we were super little so we dont remember much i mean i dont so he probably doesnt. we were just old enough that learning english was a bitch so that was great. sarc. hes still better at it than i am though but hes better at most things so thats not surprising.”_

_“I guess I should tell you that I was born and raised here and that I don’t have any siblings. You seem to be very fond of your brother.”_

_“yea hes the fuckin best!!!!! i mean he basically pays for our entire apartment and is in college right now so hes badass. i raised him though so of course he is”_

He smiled, tilting his head to the side slightly. Gilbert seemed to forget his offense quick enough. And he seemed...

Roderich’s fingers hovered over his screen for a few moments.

“ _Perhaps we should continue this conversation over coffee sometime?_ ” he sent, hesitantly. Their conversation hadn’t exactly been...well, civil, even, but there was something intriguing about this man. And really, Roderich had gone out on a limb this far, why not see where it went?

“ _YES!!!! where and when??”_

_“There’s a nice local cafe near my neighborhood. Considering where we met I would assume it’s not too far out of your way. I’m free Wednesday afternoon, does that work for you?”_

_“i get discount on the train so i dont even care. but that works i think. like 4pm??”_

_“I have somewhere to be at 5, so maybe 3 would be better.”_

_“ok 3 is good. u have to say if u get discount on trains tho >:)”_

He shook his head, smiling.

_“I pay full price, unfortunately. See you at 3? I’ll send you the address.”_

_“see u handsome ;)”_

He placed his phone back on his piano, feeling an odd sense of contentment. It was...strange, he supposed. Most people he knew were made incredibly anxious by dating. Then again, most people he knew didn’t really _date_. It was all playing around until you found your soulmate, and then things just felt into place. Or...well, that’s when the dated started that everyone was so anxious about.

That was one positive thing to having such a cryptic phrase, he supposed, lifting the cover off his keys again. He would actually have experience with these sorts of things once the right person came around.

Assuming, of course, that the right person _did_ come around.

He sighed, and reached up for his notes again.

Wait--shit, his _tea_...!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, gilbert


	3. Chapter 3

A second chance at first impressions.

 _Gilbert_ :

On second thought, he should have asked for a more specific meeting place. An incredibly specific meeting place. Like, sure, a very particular coffee shop was pretty specific, but there was little in the world he hated more than hanging around awkwardly and not really knowing if who he was supposed to be seeing was there or not, and not really being sure if he’d be able to recognize them on sight even if they were.

Even worse, maybe Roderich _was_ there and was watching him flounder helplessly, his eyes darting around behind dark sunglasses, face starting to heat up in a way completely independant of the sun beating down on him. Though speaking of that, he probably shouldn’t stand outside for very long.

“Gilbert?”                                     

Oh, thank fuck.

 _Roderich_ :

Gilbert looked up at the sound of his name, and Roderich smiled at him, eyes darting over his...date. He wasn’t exactly dressed to the nines--his jeans looked old and he was wearing a layering of jackets over a thermal shirt, along with sunglasses and a flatbill hat. Charming.

Said sunglasses were flipped up for a moment to reveal a pair of eyes that were _red_ in the sunlight, and he found himself gaping, before hurriedly containing his expression.

“You’d tell me if you weren’t my date, right?” Gilbert said--wait, _said?_ \--replacing the glasses and putting a hand on Roderich’s shoulder. He found he didn’t really mind, despite the uninvitedness of it.

Gilbert’s voice was...well, rough, as if it was being dragged out from his throat against its will.

“Don’t worry, it’s me,” Roderich assured him, leading the way inside, still a bit perplexed by the whole situation. “Um, could you not tell?”

“You were standing right in the sun, I couldn’t see for shit.”

Roderich glanced outside the window, at the sun that was still very much high in the sky. “I...” _I see?_ “...oh.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

They went up to the counter, and Roderich ordered his usual--an infused tea, or something like that, he wasn’t exactly a connoisseur of these things--and looked over to see Gilbert squinting at the menu over the counter. Eventually he dug out a pair of glasses from his many pockets and exchanged his sunglasses out, slipping them on with his palms, then holding his hands over his temples while he looked the menu over. Once he’d apparently decided, he put them away.

“Are you not a fan of glasses?” Roderich asked, once they had finally settled at a table. The one farthest away from the windows, as his date had insisted.

“Uh, no?” Gilbert said, as if it was obvious. Then he frowned. “I mean, yours are pretty hot but mine are like...” he shuffled around in his pockets again, and Roderich took a drink to disguise his pleased, if surprised, reaction at the sudden compliment. Gilbert held his glasses up, tapping a lense. “These things are stupid thick. They just make me look like. Like...like I did in middle school.” He grimaced at the thought, shoving the frames back into his pocket again. “So. No.”

“I’m sure you look perfectly fine in them.”

“Ha, ha.” It was a flat, sardonic laugh over the rim of his cup. “Yeah, go ahead and think that.”

Roderich huffed. “So that’s a bad subject. I apologize.”

“Don’t,” Gilbert said, immediately. “Well, I mean. I don’t care. That’s usually not what people bring up first.”

“What do they, then?” And it was out before his mind had caught up with his mouth--”The size of their penis?”

He flushed, but Gilbert just laughed, loud enough to turn a few heads.

“I was just fucking with you! I wanted to see what you’d do,” he said, grinning with no hint of apology.

“We were _texting_. There was nothing to see.”

“Yeah, I bet you were red, though. _That_ shade of red.”

Gilbert was staring directly at him, resting his chin on a hand, eyes narrowed in amusement. Roderich brought a hand up over his mouth, barely keeping himself from covering his entire face in embarrassment. His face which was slowly reddening, despite himself.

“I thought you’d look cute,” he continued. “And you do. Guess I was right.”

“I--”

“But, hey,” he leaned forward, face suddenly dropping into an entirely different expression, wide-eyed with worry. “You’re not actually mad, right? I mean, I was just joking around. Except you do look cute, but the other stuff...”

Roderich frowned, a little taken aback by the change in tone. “No...” he said, slowly. “I would rather not talk about those kind of things, however. So I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t bring it up in the future.”

“Right. Okay.” He sat up again, energy returning. “No more dick talk. It’s not like you’re going to have sex with me anyways so there’s really no point. Uh, or, wait, I mean,” his voice wavered, and Roderich raised an eyebrow. “No point in like. That sort of. Not that...shit.” He screwed his eyes shut, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Change the conversation before I say something else stupid.”

Roderich tried very hard to keep himself from laughing, biting at the inside of his mouth while Gilbert berated himself. “I understand,” he said. Then, “So, you can sign?”

 _Gilbert_ :

His heart dropped at the question, but he grinned insistently, intent on powering his way through it. If he didn’t think about--no, not thinking about it! Not thinking about not thinking about it! Shit!

“Yeah,” he said. “I can.” So far, so good, except for maybe the slight waver in his voice--he leaned back, moving his hands under the table to dig stubs of nails into his palms.

“That seems like an odd thing to learn...I’m not sure I know anyone else who knows how. Are you involved with the deaf community?”

He watched Roderich’s gloved finger circle the plastic lid on his tea, touch delicate, just like his voice.

“No,” said Gilbert. “I’m...uh...it’s like...”

Gone. That was it. The words stuck in his mind, tangled in a bunch that he could unravel if he felt like it would do any good. But it wouldn’t. They were stuck up there.

 _Shit_.

He scowled, leaning down and hitting his head against the table, hat sliding off. Talk about the worst possible time. Couldn’t he have kept it up for one fucking hour? _Jesus_...

“Um,” he heard Roderich say, from across the table. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, lifting his head up just enough for the motion.

“Is that...a bad subject as well?”

He shook his head. Then, reconsidering, he brought a hand up and made a wobbly “sort of” motion with it. That one was universal, right?

“Ah. I’m...sorry, then.”

Gilbert huffed, finally sitting up. It was _his_ fault, why was Roderich apologizing?

He shook his head again, waving a dismissive hand to emphasise. Then he held up a finger, _one second_ , and pulled out his phone. This was so not going to ruin his day.

He pulled up the sign for “sorry,” and then showed it to Roderich, scooting his phone across the table. Roderich read it, and then looked back up at him.

 _Sorry_ , Gilbert signed. _Understand_?

Wait, shit.

He grabbed his phone again, ruffling his hair out of the terrible shape he realized it must be in. He pulled up “understand,” and pushed the phone back over. Roderich dutifully examined it.

Then, again. _Sorry. You understand?_

“Um. Yes? I do understand? Is that what you’re asking?”

He grinned, and took his phone back, giving Roderich a thumbs up. Let’s see, what else...

Gilbert showed him the sign for “pretty.” _You’re pretty._

“Ah. Yes, I remember that one.”

Thumbs up, again, and back to his phone.

“How would I say, ‘you too?’ “

Gilbert looked up at him, his heart taking a treacherous leap. _Same_ , he signed, slowly.

Roderich imitated him, and Gilbert grinned, nodding smugly. Not that people often told him that, but...that wasn’t something anyone else needed to know.

He taught him two other ones, _now_ and _sign_ , in order to string together the sentence, _now you understand sign language!_ He received a laugh in return, which was more than enough of a reward.

“Hardly,” said Roderich, smiling. “I’m on my way though, aren’t I?”

Gilbert nodded, finally resorting to typing out something on his phone. There was only so much he could teach when he was actually trying to say something.

 _So anyways, im kind of mute_ , he showed him, not meeting his eyes.

“I see...”

 _Its an anxiety thing_. He frowned. No, he deleted that and showed him something else instead. _Idk it gets bad when people want me to talk which sucks._

“Hm,” went Roderich. He probably didn’t know how to respond. Most people didn’t. “Well...if it helps, I think this conversation is going just as well.”

Gilbert smiled at the table, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt his face getting warm, which probably meant he was already bright red. Great.

 _It helps a little_.

He shrugged his jackets off, suddenly very cognizant of the temperature inside, and continued typing.

 _Roderich_ :

He felt a little bad for whatever he had done to prompt Gilbert’s silence, but it seemed he was more upset about it himself than Gilbert was, so perhaps he was overreacting. Besides, learning sign language was interesting, and...honestly, Gilbert seemed much more polite when he didn't have as many words at his disposal, though Roderich wouldn’t dream of saying so.

He looked up from the table at the sound of shifting fabric, to see Gilbert absently shedding his extra layers.

And. _Oh._

Gilbert’s appearance had been steadily changing as they were sitting there, but this was the first thing that had really made enough of a difference to notice. And did he ever notice.

The sunglasses had gone, the hat had gone, and his hair had gone from flat to sticking up everywhere to finally settling down into an almost purposefully-mussed look--a look that went _very well_ along with the flannel shirt that was now revealed to be hugging a _very well-defined_ frame, and Gilbert just shrugged his hoodie off and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table to type on his phone, sleeves pulling tight around his arms and just--looking _completely_ unconcerned, as if it was _normal_ for people to be that gorgeous, and--

Had Roderich wandered into someone else’s date? This couldn’t actually be happening. He couldn’t really be sitting across from a man this attractive.

Gilbert glanced up at him and caught him staring, because of _course_ he was staring, and smirked, leaning forwards.

“Like what you see?” he said. Then, considerably less smoothly: “Ah. Ha!” He smacked his hand against the table, grinning triumphantly. “It’s back!”

Roderich blinked, and then laughed, covering his face. This was too much all at once--and he was much too quickly developing a fondness for a man he’d barely had a conversation with.

“What? What are you laughing at?” Gilbert asked, sounding concerned. Roderich quickly contained himself, though his smile was persistent.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m sorry, this is just--I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and I wasn’t quite prepared.”

Gilbert’s eyes went wide, and he blushed, the color creeping down past his collar. He attempted a smirk, though it was incredibly unconvincing.

“Uh, well, o-obviously,” he said, voice wavering.

Roderich tilted his head to the side slightly. “Do you not get complimented very often?”

“No. I mean, yes. Uh. Of course I do! Look at me!” He huffed, and put a hand over his face, glancing down at his phone. “Wait,” he said, looking up again, “I had an important question for you.”

“Oh?” He was past the point where such an open-ended declaration would make him anxious. He was...comfortable, actually, which was an odd feeling to have when not in front of a piano.

“So, you don’t...do that whole soulmate thing, right?”

Ah. There went _that_ feeling.

“What do you mean?” he asked, smile slipping away.

“I mean...” Gilbert frowned, brow furrowed intently. “Nothing like, rained down from the heavens when we met, you know? Or...like, you would have said something if...ugh.” He ruffled his hair, sending it sticking up every which way again. “How do you feel about it? Are you looking for your soulmate?”

Roderich sat back, hands carefully encircling his tea. He supposed it was...a pertinent topic, but that didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it.

“What about you?” he asked, instead. “Is that your phrase, on the back of your neck? What does it say?”

Gilbert shrugged. “Dunno.”

He frowned. “You...don’t know what it says?”

“Nope. Never read it.”

“You’ve _never read it_?” He sat up, eyes wide in disbelief. “But what if...what if you’ve met them and you didn’t even know? What if you missed your chance?”

“What _if_ ,” Gilbert huffed, scowling. Roderich shrunk away, leaning back in his chair. “What if I meet them and I can't talk to them? So they never know? I’m just making it fair.”

Gilbert seemed to deflate after that, sighing and slouching over the table. “The way I see it,” he continued, “If fate is really all that and there’s someone that I’m actually meant to be with, we’ll end up together no matter what I do. If not, then. Whatever. Like, I’ve hated the idea ever since people’ve tried to get me to talk when I couldn’t. So...” he shrugged. “Fuck it. I hate it. I hate the idea that speech is supposed to be the most important thing in life. So, yeah.” He gestured at Roderich with an open hand. “Your turn.”

He messed with the straw in his tea, poking at the pieces of fruit in the bottom of his cup. What was he supposed to say to that? That he wanted nothing more than an actual, readable phrase that would be able to tell him when he’d met _the one_? That the very thing Gilbert hated was something that he’d yearned for his entire life?

“I do want to meet my soulmate,” he said, eyes turned down. “I’ve always wanted to. But I...I don’t really have a phrase. So I make due.”

He looked up to see his reaction, and Gilbert was staring at him, eyes wide and unreadable.

“You don’t have one?” he asked. Roderich shook his head. “Why not?”

“As if I’d know,” he snapped, and then immediately covered his mouth, ashamed of his tone. “I...sorry,” he said. “I just mean...I’d like to know the answer to that, too.”

“That’s...” Gilbert started, trailing off as if to find the right words. Roderich braced himself for the barbs that were sure to follow-- _weird, unnatural,_ the claim that he’s lying, or hiding something. “That’s...really cool!”

Roderich blinked. “Sorry?”

“That’s cool! Like, now you can date anyone you want to, right? Like, you know, I’ve heard of so many relationships falling apart ‘cause, at first it was all, ‘oh I don’t care that you’re not my soulmate, I want to be with your forever,’ but then it starts kind of eating at them because they know it’s not meant to be or whatever, but you don’t have to worry about that!”

“Um...yes, I do.”

“Huh?”

He huffed, part frustrated, part amused at Gilbert’s incomplete argument. “Like you said, it’s easy to tell if someone you’ve spoken to is your soulmate, whether you have your part of the conversation or not. They react to it. So it’s not as if I couldn’t tell that my previous relationships weren’t ordained by fate.”

“Oh,” went Gilbert. “Right. So, they would have to not know, too...”

He nodded. “And you’re the first person I’ve met who hasn’t. Maybe not the first I’ve heard of, but certainly the first I’ve dated.”

Gilbert’s hand went to the back of his neck, no doubt rubbing over the words there. Roderich really couldn’t imagine going 23 years without ever checking what it said. Even if one didn’t hold much faith in the choice it made, just the curiosity...

“In any case,” he continued, hoping it would settle the matter, “We’re here now. That’s how I see it.”

“Yeah,” went Gilbert, somewhat absently. Then he dropped his hand, and looked up at Roderich, grinning. “I still think it’s cool.”

* * *

 

That hour and a half went by much faster than Roderich expected, and soon he was checking his phone and being shocked and hurriedly gathering his things, thanking Gilbert for his time but “I have a performance to get to, I might still make the call time if I hurry--”

Gilbert grabbed his arm as he was leaving, though, effectively getting his attention, and he stopped, looking down at him. It seemed like he was struggling for words again, but Roderich stood there anyways, patiently waiting despite the time.

It was only a few moments before Gilbert huffed, and just brought his hand up to make a “call me” gesture, face questioning.

Roderich smiled. “I certainly will,” he responded, and didn’t stop thinking about Gilbert’s relieved sigh until he’d made it to the venue.

* * *

 

“ _i actually wanted to ask if i could come see u play but idk after just 1 date thats probably too much anyways. maybe sometime tho?”_

_“I would be honored. I’ll let you know if I can get you tickets to anything.”_

_“best!!!”_


	4. Chapter 4

Gilbert stood outside of the theater, a little to the side of the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot, hands stuck in his pockets. It was kind of cold outside, but he was having a hard time making himself go in.

His brother stood next to him, perfectly still, and even though Gilbert was looking away he just _knew_ what kind of face he was making, that frown that was only just different from his usual expression, when he was upset but trying not to let it show. Concerned, in this case.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and Gilbert grinned. So predictable.

“Nothing,” he said. “I mean, this is weird, right?”

“I don’t...think so. What’s weird?”

“This.” He made a wide gesture with his hand, aware that his answer was basically useless. He was just feeling a little out of place, with his button-down and slacks and...brother. He didn’t want to see a show alone, right, so he’d asked if he could bring West along but, now that he thought about it, maybe bringing your brother to something your...boyfriend? Is that what he was? Invited you to...

“Maybe you should explain inside,” West suggested, and Gilbert huffed, finally going into the theater and finding it to have a much more agreeable level of light. It was some sort of dance recital, and local, so even though they weren’t all that early there weren’t a lot of people there. Like, there wasn’t even anyone guarding the door to take tickets, so Gilbert just walked into the auditorium and looked around, hearing West follow after him.

There was...a stage. And, you know, chairs and stuff, with the flippy seats. It also looked like the piano was sitting down in front of the stage, so he went over and took a seat next to it, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“It’s been forever, huh,” he said, looking around. They didn’t usually have the money for this sort of thing. Or the time. And, well, if Gilbert did have the money or time for something like this, it wouldn’t be his first choice to spend it on. _Dance recitals_...

“It has,” his brother agreed. “Is that what’s weird?”

Oh, right. “Nah, it’s just...” he leaned on an armrest, poking around in his head for the feeling in particular, trying to pin it down. “I’m in _slacks_. My...uh, Roderich, I don’t even know what to call him, he’s, like...he gets manicures! You know? He’s so prim and proper and...” Oh. Gilbert slouched over as the feeling settled into nice, familiar anxiety. Well, familiar, at least. _And I’m so not and I kind of really like him and_ , “I’m gonna fuck something up.”

He looked over, and West had that particular face on, the one where he looked kind of like he’d smelled something bad but was too polite to say anything. This one was specifically reserved for when people, for some reason, sought him out looking for relationship advice.

“Yeah, you probably will.” OH, GREAT! “But you’ll figure it out. That’s what you do."

Gilbert Beilschmidt, professional fuck-up, 23 years of experience. Well, at least he had his experience. That was something.

“Gilbert?”

Oh, that was a different voice. He looked up to see Roderich, emerging from a door off to the side of the stage. Angst momentarily forgotten, he got up, grinning. “Hey, Roddy!”

Roderich came over, hovering just outside that weird personal space boundary that neither of them knew if they were allowed to cross. “ ‘Roddy?’ “ he questioned, frowning.

“Yeah. You know, like...what, you don’t like it?”

“No, it’s...fine,” he said, not sounding quite sure. But he turned to West before that conversation could continue, smiling politely. “And you must be Gilbert’s brother.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, finally standing up from his place awkwardly on the sideline of the conversation. “I’m Ludwig,” he said, holding out a hand. “It’s good to meet you.”

“Roderich,” he answered, shaking hands and smiling. It was weird to see Roderich’s hands next to West’s. Like, West wasn’t too much taller than him, but his hands just seemed so big and square next to the pianist’s, thin and delicate even when covered. Gilbert glanced down at his own self-consciously. He didn’t really know what to make of them. “It’s nice to meet you, too. That’s a lovely name.”

Gilbert shuffled closer to Roderich. His brother looked taken aback by the compliment.

“Uh. Thanks.”

“Soo, a dance recital, huh?” Gilbert prompted, dragging the conversation back over. Roderich never told him _he_ had a lovely name...

“Oh. Yes,” Roderich said, glancing back at the piano. “The woman who runs the studio is a very kind lady, and...well, generous. I agreed to accompany the showcase for a portion of ticket sales, which...”

He looked over the auditorium, which by now at least had a _few_ people wandering in.

“Well. I don’t agree to things like this very often.”

Gilbert snickered, nudging him with his elbow.

“I’m sure it’s going to be great, though, right?”

Roderich didn’t look convinced.

“One can only hope.”

* * *

 

The dance recital wasn’t terrible. Or, well, Gilbert was pretty sure it wasn’t terrible. For one, he knew jack shit about dancing, and for two, he was pretty distracted by Roderich the entire time, so he wasn’t paying all that much attention to the actual show.

He was glad he snagged the front row seats while he could, because this was probably the only place he could actually see Roderich’s hands from, see how they glanced over the keys like nothing at all, flicking the pages of the music during minute rests as if he had a third hand to do it with.

Gilbert was transfixed. Most of all, he wanted to get his hands on Roderich’s as soon as possible, had an insufferable itch in the back of his brain that wanted to know just what type of hands they were. His nails, his knuckles, his calluses. It wasn’t a _thing_ , really, he just. He wondered if other people could tell just by looking.

The recital had something like a winter theme, which meant it was dark and blue, two of Gilbert’s favorite things. There was a lot of twinkly music near the beginning and then moved on to...he wasn’t sure how to describe it. Solemn?

In any case, he knew enough about music to know that Roderich was really good at it, and he pushed away the jealously trying to claw its way up, replacing it with a sense of pride and accomplishment. Shit, Roderich was _good_. And Roderich was his, at least for now. He’d landed himself a talented one.

His brother sat in respectful silence. So, actually, did Gilbert, though with the thoughts running through his head, he hardly noticed.

* * *

 

Roderich stayed seated as the performers on stage took a bow, watching them respectfully. Though he couldn’t help a quick glance behind him at Gilbert, and found him looking directly at him, grinning widely and clapping with his hands held up high. Roderich turned back to his piano, hiding his bashful smile. It wasn’t, perhaps, polite to ignore the dancers in favor of the pianist, but...he couldn’t say he disliked the attention.

Once the performers exited the stage and the applause died down, Roderich closed his music book, slipped his gloves back on, and stepped over to Gilbert, who stood to meet him. His brother instead turned his attention to his cell phone, looking a little out of place.

“That was awesome!” Gilbert said. “ _You_ were awesome. Some of those songs looked crazy difficult.”

Roderich couldn’t help but blush, covering his smile with a hand. “Thank you,” he said. “Though I can assure you that music was nothing special. I’ve had more than enough practice with it.”

Gilbert gaped at him. “What the hell do you consider _hard_ , then?”

“Oh, there are a few I’ve been working on,” Roderich said lightly, as if the very thought didn’t make him internally grimace at the memory of hours upon hours of frustratingly ineffective practice.

“Yeah? You should show me sometime.”

He laughed, a little strained. That wasn’t really a side of his personality he was inclined to put on show. Thankfully, Gilbert didn’t seem to notice his tone, and turned to his brother, kicking his foot to get his attention. He looked up, and Gilbert signed something to him, faster than Roderich had any hope of catching. His brother sighed, standing up.

“Don’t be long,” he said, and left, his tall shoulders awkwardly edging past chatting show-goers.

Gilbert shuffled into Roderich’s view. “So...” he started, with a hesitance Roderich had somehow already become familiar with. His pale gaze darted around for a moment before returning. “Sorry about. You know. I just...” He waved a hand, vaguely. “I’m not going to just start bringing my brother to things.”

“Ah,” went Roderich. “It was a pleasure to meet him. I’m glad you didn’t have to sit through the show alone.”

Gilbert grinned, relief showing on his face. “Yeah! I mean, it was good, but that would have been awkward. We should do this again sometime, or something.” His eyes began wandering around the auditorium. “I mean, I would show you what I do, but it’s not really a spectator sport, uh, you could meet the guys, I guess, but...”

Roderich took a slight step forward, and Gilbert glanced at him, frowning.

“I’d like to spend more time with you,” Roderich said. “Just you.”

“Uh,” he went. “Right. Yeah...I just. Don’t usually do this.” He rocked back and forth on his feet a bit, eyes wandering again. “I want to spend time with you, too. Obviously. A lot of time. But I don’t usually...I mean, what would we do?”

“Well, what do you usually do for fun?” Roderich asked. He was surprisingly comfortable this close to Gilbert, and folded his hands together in order to quell the urge to take Gilbert’s fidgeting fingers in his.

“Drink,” was the answer. Roderich waited for a moment to see if anything would follow it. No. Gilbert just shrugged.

“That can’t be...it,” he said, uncertainly.

“That’s it with friends. Like, there’s a lot of other stuff, I play video games and blog and take care of my bird but when I’m out with people it’s usually just to drink and do stupid shit. You don’t seem like that kind of guy.”

Roderich sighed. He wasn’t used to dealing with people in, oh, how to put it politely... _this_ kind of social sphere. Still, he was sure they would find something that worked for them.

“We’ll think of something,” he said, patting Gilbert’s arm. “But perhaps later. I’d hate to keep your brother waiting.”

“Right,” Gilbert said, not sounding convinced. “Well, bye, I guess. I’ll text you?”

“Mhm.”

He turned to leave, but then paused, looking back again. “Wait, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“Oh?” Roderich tried to ignore his heart’s anxious thud at the statement.

“Do you think I could, um...” he was shifting his weight from foot to foot again, and then brought up a hand to tap at the side of his face. “Have a kiss goodbye?”

Roderich blinked. Then he smiled, trying not to laugh in his sudden relief. He didn’t want his mirth to be misconstrued.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he conceded, and stepped forward, lifting onto his toes ever so slightly to place a peck on the side of Gilbert’s face.

He stood back to see Gilbert’s wide grin, and couldn’t help but smile himself. “Will that do?”

“Yes!” went Gilbert, and then waved, stepping away. “Bye for real this time. See you soon!”

Roderich waved back, and watched Gilbert leave, thinking he finally understood what people meant when they described someone as having a spring in their step.

All that from just a peck on the cheek?

 _Cute_.

* * *

 

Gilbert laid in his bed, curled up under a mound of blankets, face mostly buried in his pillow.

Dates. Dates. Romantic things. Out with people. Just _hanging_ out with people. He’d tried to ask Francis, but he knew more about sex than romance, which was especially useless since Roderich was someone who Gilbert, for all intents and purposes, was pretty sure he was never going to sleep with. Antonio’s suggestions weren’t bad, but most of them involved expensive gifts. And expensive restaurants. Even _if_ Gilbert had the money, he wouldn’t know what fork to use. It would be terrible.

He groaned into his pillow, lamenting his lack of social grace. And the fact that he’d somehow fallen--well, maybe not quite--he _liked_ a guy who probably had more _social grace_ in the tip of his pinkie finger than most people Gilbert knew had in their whole body. He was just so proper and. Really, really, pretty. And Gilbert wanted so badly to take him places that were impressive and would have him swooning into his arms but all the places Gilbert ever went were for people...well. Like _him_.

He heard a very gentle tapping on the surface of his blanket mound, and wiggled out from under it to find his budgie waddling along it, looking confused. Gilbert extracted one of his arms to hold his hand out, and whistled a couple short notes. His bird jumped up and flew to his hand, grabbing on with its little delicate feet. Gilbert brought it close to his face.

“You’re a proper gentleman, right?”

The bird tilted its head.

“Where do you take a man like Roderich out on a date?”

His bird seemed to think about it for a second, and then jumped the short distance onto Gilbert’s face, perching on his nose. Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to lose what vision he had to curious budgie claws.

“I see,” he grumbled. He did not see. Instead, he dug around his blankets for his phone, and brought it up to his face, tentatively opening an eye that he thought was safe. No messages. Fine.

He pulled up his camera and took a selfie of his squinty, unshowered, blanket-clad, bird-foreheaded self, and sent it to Roderich with the message, “ _u met my guy?”_

The bird fluttered back into his hand, and Gilbert stroked its feathers, feeling his anxiety die down a bit. His little feathered friend always knew what to say.

_“No, I don’t believe I have. He’s very cute. What’s his name?”_

“He thinks you’re cute,” he told his bird. Then, to Roderich, “ _bird. hes a budgie.”_

_“Apt. Do you like birds?”_

Gilbert took a second, wondering what the hell apartments had to do with this, before realizing that was actually a word.

_“hell yea id have like 50 if i could.  i always wanted a pet eagle when i was a kid but my bro says thats illegal. thats probably good though i think itd kill me. so i just have my little dude here but hes the best so its cool.”_

_“I’m glad you found each other. Perhaps we could go to the zoo sometime? I hear there are some decent aviaries.”_

Gilbert huffed, a little irritated. If only.

“ _yea hard pass. dont have enough sunscreen in the world for that. maybe the aquarium unless fish freak you out”_

_“I’m sorry, I should have considered that. The aquarium sounds wonderful.”_

His bird settled down into a ball of feathers in his hand, fluffing out.

Fish. Alright.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little short I guess, soz

Things went...well, they went, that was kind of as much as Gilbert was hoping for. It’s not like he knew how romantic relationships were _supposed_ to go, really, and no one else did, either. His brother and Antonio had both found their soulmates, or whatever, which was a completely different process, and it’s not like his brother was any help with romance anyways. And Francis was...

Well. Francis.

“You have been dating him for _how_ long?” he dug at Gilbert with his accented English--which he was _totally_ exaggerating, he must be, after this long in the states.

Gilbert shrugged, leaning on Francis’ coffee table from his spot on the floor. He took a drink of his beer to buy him some time doing the mental arithmetic. “Three months?” he estimated.

“Three months!” Francis repeated, scandalized. “Three months, and you haven’t brought him over to see us.”

“Well--”

“Or _kissed_ him.”

“Hey! I could have!”

“But you haven’t,” Antonio joined in.

Gilbert glared at him. _Traitor_. “I’m taking my time, okay,” he grumbled. “...and I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.” There. That was the truth of the matter.

“That much is obvious,” Francis said, sniffing.

“It’s not like _you_ would, you’re lost if you can’t figure out how to get someone to fuck you in under a week.”

“I cannot say I’ve ever had that experience.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes, and Francis set his wineglass on the table with a delicate _clink_. “Invite him to my New Year’s party.”

Gilbert stared at him. Antonio seemed similarly taken aback by the suggestion.

“That might be a little...” Antonio said, trailing off. The rest didn’t really need to be said.

“I’m not _trying_ to fuck him, jesus. A night club? He’s a _classical pianist_.”

“Yes, yes, but listen,” Francis said, waving his hand widely. “The point is not for him to enjoy himself particularly. The point is, should it go well, not only will he meet us, but you will get your kiss.”

Gilbert eyed him suspiciously. He didn’t like the sound of this. It was Francis, after all, so why would he. “What, I get him wasted enough to make out with me?”

“No, nothing so crude! Here’s how it will go. You will escort him to the party, introduce him to us, and then stay as long as he wishes. Once he is ready to go, you will escort him home, and he will be unable to resist the allure of giving you a goodnight kiss on New Year’s Eve. Simple, yes?”

Gilbert rubbed his chin in thought. That _did_ sound like a decent scenario, but...

“What if he doesn’t want me to walk him home?”

“Then at least we get to see him,” Antonio said. “And _you_ get to see him in something other than button downs and slacks. Probably.”

“ _Tout à fait,_ see, Gilbert, he understands. Everyone wins.”

“Except my boyfriend.”

“If he does not want to come, he will not come,” Francis said, shrugging. “And I am sure he will be happy to at least spend the time with you.”

“What if he _doesn’t come_?”

“If he declines, then it opens up the door for you to offer a quiet night in, since you so dearly would like to spend the holiday with him, if he does not already have other plans.”

Gilbert scowled, and Francis raised an annoyingly smug eyebrow at him. It _sounded_ good, but he knew by then that he shouldn’t mistake Francis’ slipperiness for actual good ideas.

Still. Antonio didn’t have anything to say, and nothing in the premise of the plan itself seemed particularly sleazy, which was kind of a miracle in itself. So...

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll invite him. But you have to cut my hair again.”

Francis waved a hand, unbothered. “I wasn’t going to let you in looking like that, anyways.”

* * *

 

They met up for coffee, or tea, before one of Roderich’s performances, as they seemed to have fallen into the habit of doing whenever they could. Gilbert seemed to have more than enough free time, and could usually make it, so it was mostly up to Roderich to make time.

Which he couldn’t do all that often, unfortunately.

Gilbert had gotten his hair cut since they had last seen each other, which seemed like an odd choice for the cold winter months, but it looked nice, trimmed at the top and gradiating shorter to a buzz at his neck.

Notably, this removed the cover from the phrase looping over his skin. Roderich told him it looked nice. He didn’t mention the phrase.

 _I know_ , Gilbert signed, placing his drink on the table to free his hand. [---] _cut it_. There was a sign there that Roderich didn’t recognize, a twisting “F.”

“What’s this one?” he asked, imitating it.

Gilbert raised his eyebrows, _oh_ , then spelled out, in an area to his left, _F-R-A-N-C-I-S_. He shrugged. _That’s the sign for the [---]_ , he paused, explained, spelling out _C-O-U-N-T-R-Y_ , he continued, _but we call him that._

“I see,” said Roderich. “Well, tell him I think he did a very nice job.”

Gilbert nodded. Then he made a motion that was clearly imitating playing the piano, then the letter R. He then combined the two, miming the piano with his left hand, two fingers crossed. He pointed at Roderich.

“Is that me?”

He nodded, again, grinning. Roderich returned his smile. As simple and perhaps obvious as the sign was, he couldn’t help the little flutter of his heart at receiving it.

Gilbert took a drink of his coffee, then frowned. _My hair. You should tell him_. The “him” being located in the same place he’d put Francis.

“Oh...?”

 _We’re celebrating New Year’s. He wants me [---]_. Whatever it was, Gilbert seemed put off by it, slouching over.

“This is...?” Roderich asked, about the last sign.

 _Ask you to come_.

“Ah. Do you not want me to?”

Gilbert raised his eyebrows, eyes wide, and then shook his head. _I want you to! But..._ he thought for a moment. _It will be loud. It’s at a club. I don’t know if you’ll like it._

Roderich nodded slowly, rolling his straw between his fingers. “Well...” he started. He really didn’t know what to say. That wasn’t something he did, at all, but Gilbert had never invited him out with his friends before. He found himself wanting to go, as bad of a decision as he felt that was. “I’m not really sure what I’d wear...”

 _Tight pants, v-neck_ , Gilbert signed, smirking. _Something pretty. Easy, right_?

“I don’t think I have anything like that,” Roderich said, quiet. Even if he did...

 _Buy something_. He glanced away for a moment. _If you want to come_. _You don’t have to_.

Roderich sighed, sitting back. Clubbing. This relationship was full of surprises. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” he decided, and had to hold back a smile at Gilbert’s radiant grin. “Though I doubt I’ll stay for very long.”

 _Only one or two drinks_ , he agreed. _It’ll be fun_.

* * *

 

Gilbert stood outside the club, pacing back and forth, steps unconsciously falling in line with the reverberating beat from inside. It was really fucking cold, but there was no way he was going to go in there still nervous about Roderich showing up. Or, well, _not_ showing up. Clubs were good, clubs were fine, but only if he was in the right mood for it and currently--

Someone stepped up to him, and he looked up from the ground to see who was invading his personal space, and decide whether to deck them or not.

He did not, in fact, punch them, because he was too busy trying to figure out who this person was who looked so much like his boyfriend but couldn’t _actually_ be because those pants hugged his figure _way_ too well and how the hell had Gilbert never realized his hips looked that nice, he didn’t even have a thing for legs but he was quickly developing kind of a _thing_ for all of Roderich, because holy shit, that _was_ him, and, wow.

“I hope your staring means I’m dressed appropriately,” said Roderich.

“Appropriately,” echoed Gilbert, slowly. That was one word for it. No, wait--actually, that wasn’t the word for it at all. “You look. Nice.”

Roderich smiled, tilting his head up with a little quirk that Gilbert could only describe as _preening_ , but then again, maybe he’d been spending more time with his bird lately than human beings. He took Gilbert’s arm, at first with a soft touch then a more sure one once Gilbert offered his elbow. “Shall we go in?”

“Sure,” Gilbert said, still a little stunned. “Uh. You’ll let me know if you want to leave, right?”

“Yes. I will.”


	6. Chapter 6

Step one: Find Francis and Antonio.

The music inside and the bustle of people fed right into Gilbert’s giddy mood, grin plastered onto his face and heart soaring when Roderich moved closer to him, clinging to his arm. It wasn’t hard to find Francis--he was in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by gyrating people of all genders. Getting to him, however...

Maybe he would wait until his friend took a break. He elbowed his way to a corner of the club and an empty table in a dark corner and pulled a seat out for Roderich, who took it gratefully. Gilbert just leaned on the table, not ready to sit down just yet.

“You ever been to a club before?” he asked, more or less yelling to be heard over the music. Roderich shook his head, looking around the room with a doubtful expression. “Well, what do you think?”

He thought about it for a second. Then, to Gilbert’s delight, signed the word _loud_. He laughed.

“Yeah,” Gilbert said. “I’m gonna get something to drink, want anything?” He gestured at the bar across the room. Roderich looked over at it.

“A beer would be nice.”

“Alright. Don’t go anywhere.”

Beer. Huh. He definitely would have taken him for a fruity mixed drink kind of guy, but...he did know German after all, so maybe it wasn’t all that surprising.

Gilbert navigated his way to the bar, made space where there wasn’t any, and managed to get in a request of two whatever-you-have-on-tap’s.

“Does that mean you’re here with someone?” the woman next to him said, leaning in close under the guise of being heard.

“I am. Sorry.”

That wasn’t an answer he’d ever gotten to give before. He felt kind of bad at the disappointed look he got, but it was nothing compared to the fact that he was _totally here with someone_ and that someone was most definitely the most attractive person in the entire club.

He collected the beers and made his way back to the table, carefully, only to find someone leaning over it and talking to Roderich, who had a deer-in-headlights look on his face. Except, no, Gilbert knew that jacket, that wasn’t a  _someone_.

He walked over and kicked--well, more like nudged--the guy in the back of his knee.

“Francis, what the fuck, I was gone for _one minute_ ,” he said, as Francis very uncooly caught himself and straightened up again.

“One minute too long! You can’t leave such a beautiful person unattended, someone is sure to steal him away.”

Gilbert set the glasses down and sat close enough to put his arm around Roderich’s shoulders. “This is Francis,” he said, probably unnecessarily. Then, completely necessarily, “Don’t believe anything he says.”

Roderich raised his eyebrows.

“I am delighted to finally meet you,” Francis said, pulling up a chair and setting down his glass of whatever the fuck it was, “I found it impossible to believe that someone could actually exist who is as beautiful as Gilbert made you out to be, but I find myself proven wrong.”

“Oh!” went Roderich, turning to Gilbert, whose face was quickly reddening. Not like anyone could see that, right? Probably. He took a drink of beer, glaring at Francis. Was he hitting on Roderich, or was he hitting on Roderich _for Gilbert_. Or both? Either way, he tightened his grip around his boyfriend’s shoulders as Francis used the guise of a handshake to take Roderich’s hand and kiss it.

“ _Enchant_ _é_.”

Roderich pulled his hand back-- _Ha!_ \--and that’s when Antonio came barrelling into their table, right on time.

“Is this Roderich?” he asked, staring straight at him. Roderich blinked.

“In the flesh,” Gilbert answered.

“Um, hello,” said Roderich. Antonio grabbed one of his hands and shook it vigorously.

“It’s good to finally meet you, Roderich! We’ve heard so much about you! Are you having fun? Has Francis embarrassed Gilbert enough yet?”

He pulled up a chair right next to Roderich, and _for some reason_ they were all sitting on one side of the circular table, when there was a perfectly good second side looming in the corner, completely unoccupied. However, Antonio’s proximity had Roderich leaning into Gilbert’s arm, so he couldn’t complain too much.

“Yes,” said Roderich, “and no, I don’t believe he has.”

“Wh--hey!” went Gilbert, “He has too! Don’t start.”

“He’s right, Antonio,” Francis said, and Gilbert was immediately worried at the agreement. “We have to save our stories for their wedding, no?” There it was.

“Fuck off,” Gilbert said, though there wasn’t much force to it. He refused to meet Roderich’s eye to see his reaction. Instead, “Didn’t bring Lovino, huh?”

“Ah, no, you know how his family is. They have plans,” Antonio said, completely missing the obvious topic change. Success. “Besides, he gets jealous so easily, and I can’t really stop people from approaching me, you know? I just don’t think he would have fun.” He sighed, entire torso drooping as he did. But a second later, he was upright again, smiling. “But that just means I have more time to spend with you two! Oh, and Roderich, of course.”

He pat Roderich on the shoulder, and Roderich smiled, a little strained.

“Oh, Antonio,” Francis said, leaning towards him. “I have a problem.” He held out his glass, now empty except for a few pieces of ice. Antonio, somehow miraculously getting the hint, got up and accompanied him to the bar.

Gilbert felt, rather than heard, Roderich sigh. “They’re...friendly,” he said. Gilbert laughed.

“Yeah, they can be a little overbearing...” he wasn’t sure how else to put it. Like, sure, _he_ liked hanging out with them, but they were kind of assholes sometimes. And touchy, which Roderich didn’t seem to be all that receptive too. Gilbert could relate. “So, uh, do you wanna dance?”

Roderich looked over at the dance floor. Then he looked back, leaning away in order to meet Gilbert’s eye.

“No.”

“...right.”

Gilbert looked around as Roderich drank his beer. If they weren’t going to dance...

“Is that all you do?” Roderich asked. “Drink and dance?”

“And hit on strangers,” Gilbert said. Roderich wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, I’m not really the best at that. Or dancing. So I usually just drink. And watch Francis and Antonio make idiots out of themselves instead of me, for once.”

Roderich nodded. Then he slid his glass over to Gilbert, who discovered that it was empty. Shit, where did all of it go?

“Want another?”

“Only if you let me pay for half the tab.”

“Well. If you _insist_.”

* * *

 

Step two: Escort Roderich home.

It wasn’t hard to tell he wasn’t having the greatest of times. It didn’t look like he was about to keel over from boredom or anything, but then again, maybe he was just too polite to show it. In any case, Gilbert wasn’t too surprised when Roderich politely implied that he might like to turn in early, after all.

“Yeah, sure,” went Gilbert, heart leaping into his throat. “I could walk you home, if you want?”

Roderich looked at him, surprised, and Gilbert wilted.

“You don’t have to leave on my behalf,” Roderich said.

“Well. Sure, I know that. Just...if you want me to...” He shrugged, finishing his drink. “I’m not gonna follow you home if you say no, but. You know. It could be...nice...” Damn his alcohol tolerance. This should have been at least a little bit easier, by now.

“I see,” went Roderich. “Well, alright, then. Let’s take care of the tab.”

Score.

* * *

 

‘Walk home’ was a bit of a misnomer, of course, since Roderich lived a bit away and besides, it was really fucking cold and windy outside and Gilbert would have been terrified for his nose. They just called a cab. But that was nice, because Roderich took his gloves off for once and let their hands meet in the middle seat and Gilbert got to run his thumb over the calluses he liked so much, and once Gilbert’s ears stopped ringing from the music in the club he noticed that Roderich’s voice seemed a little. What was a good word? _Giggly_?

And maybe it was just the slight fuzz of the alcohol mixing with all the good feelings Roderich stirred up, but Gilbert thought he might be just a little bit. Er. Well...he liked Roderich a lot, was the gist of it. A few months wasn’t really _that_ long of a time to be dating.

“So, how did you meet?”

Gilbert blinked. “Huh?”

“You and Francis and Antonio. It seems like you’ve known each other for a while.”

“Oh, yeah.” He took a moment to switch his train of thought to a different rail. “High school. Obviously. I mean, we don’t have a lot in common, so yeah.” He shrugged. “We were all super not straight, so I guess we just kind of found each other. That and we bonded over our tendency to get into trouble. Like, you know, The Breakfast Club or something. Except I was the only one usually in detention. Francis just got into shit with other students for being an asshole, and Antonio...” he thought about it for a second. “I guess he was just way too willing to help us cause trouble. I dunno, he’s kind of a chaotic good kind of guy behind all that sunshine.”

“Sorry, a what?”

“Chaotic good.” Roderich just stared at him. “You know, like...basically, he’s a good guy, but he gets into trouble. Or something. I can’t explain it. Basically just don’t get too comfortable around him or else you’ll find yourself a victim of a completely harmless prank.”

“Ah, I see,” Roderich said, laughing slightly. “Kind of like you?”

“No!” Gilbert protested, immediately. “I’m _actually_ an asshole.”

“Right, right.”

Gilbert huffed. He could hear the “of course, dear” in his voice, but at least he was nice enough to not actually say it out loud.

“What did you do to get in trouble all the time?” Roderich asked, innocently. Oh, god. He was going to make him remember high school.

“Disrespect for authority,” Gilbert answered, making half of an air quote with his free hand. “Basically I don’t take it really well when people treat me like shit, and I was in...” he trailed off, catching the words before he said them. Did he really want to start this conversation? Well, shit, now was as good a time as ever. “I was in some special education classes. If you ever want to know what being treated like absolute shit feels like, take special ed courses in high school. I mean, obviously that time has passed, but you get my point.”

“Oh,” went Roderich. “Um...can I ask why?”

“Probably because I have a learning disability,” Gilbert said, leaning away, voice straining. Shit. _Shit_.

“Oh,” went Roderich, again. “I see.”

Gilbert waited for the inevitable... _something_. And waited. And waited. And finally glanced at Roderich again, only for him to smile, like he had been the whole ride.

“What, you’re not gonna ask?” Gilbert grumbled.

“I’m not sure what you mean. But you seem uncomfortable, so no, I don’t think I’m...going to ask.”

Gilbert stared at him. Then he leaned over, slowly, until his forehead was on Roderich’s shoulder. His boyfriend reached up with his free hand to pat Gilbert’s hair.

“Anyways,” Gilbert continued, not moving, “Francis always ended up in fights with people ‘cause he slept with basically everyone in our high school and we’d have to get him out of them. I mean, mostly me, ‘cause I could beat up anyone. Mostly because I have a stupid high pain tolerance but yeah. You ever see what happens when a couple figures out they’ve both been cheating on each other with the same guy? It’s kind of funny, actually. I mean, as long as you’re not that guy.”

“Or getting into a fight because of that guy, I would presume.”

Gilbert sat up again, grinning. “Nah, I still thought it was pretty funny. But yeah. Basically everyone hated Francis, and we were his friends, so everyone hated us too, and nothing brings people together more than all being hated.”

“How touching,” Roderich deadpanned, and Gilbert giggled.

“Yeah. We actually have this game we play now, we didn’t in high school because it would’ve been too easy, but when we get to know people we play like, you know six degrees of Kevin Bacon? That, except it’s six degrees of Francis’--” _dick_. Gilbert suddenly became very aware that he may be crossing a line here, but shit, he was already in the middle of his sentence. “Uh. Of Francis. Except it’s who he’s slept with and who they’ve slept with.”

“I see,” said Roderich. Then, “Sex degrees.”

“I...what?”

“Sex degrees of Francis.”

Gilbert stared at him, and then Roderich grinned, and that was it--Gilbert laughed, and laughed, and laughed, until he was sore, and he could just feel Roderich sitting smugly beside him the whole time.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Gilbert gasped, clutching at his side, “ _how did we never think of that?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> of course this joke would come up in chapter 6. of 9.


	7. Chapter 7

Step three: The Kiss.

They both stood outside of Roderich’s apartment door, Gilbert shifting from foot to foot as his boyfriend fiddled with the few keys he had on a ring. _It’s not that hard. Just ask him for a kiss. It’s not that big a deal. Come on_.

Gilbert took a deep breath, and opened his mouth--

“Um,” went Roderich. Gilbert’s mouth snapped shut. “Would you like to...” _Yes? Yes?_ “...come in?”

What.

“Uh,” went Gilbert.

“You don’t--I...I know it’s late, I just...perhaps we could...well, a glass of water would probably be best, considering, but I...um. I’ll. I’ll let you answer.” Roderich worried his bottom lip between his teeth, and Gilbert had to stop himself from thinking about how cute that was in order to actually respond to the question.

“Yeah,” he said. “If that’s okay...”

“Oh! Good,” Roderich said, smiling, and miraculously discovered the exact key he needed to open the door without even looking down at it. “Sorry for the mess, I wasn’t planning on company...”

He opened the door and flipped on the light. Gilbert followed, closing the door behind him, and let his eyes adjust as much as they were going to. Mess. Yeah, it was about as messy as he expected--there may have been a speck of dust, _somewhere_. He’d have to look for it.

The door opened right into a living room, the farthest wall of which was all windows, curtains drawn over them. In front of the window was an upright piano, sitting askew more in the middle of the room, rather than against the wall. And, ah, there was the mess. There were papers on top of it in, at a glance, unorganized piles.

There was also a desk with a resting laptop, and a rug, and the wallpaper was _purple_ , and something seemed really off about the room but Roderich had already walked through a doorway to the right and Gilbert had to follow him before he quite realized what it was.

Through that doorway was an area that was half kitchen, half dining room, one that looked like it would be in a home and gardens magazine except...smaller. Gilbert kind of liked it though. It was more gray and silver than those cream colors he always saw when he was moving stuff out of the houses in the rich parts of town.

“Would you actually like something to drink?” Roderich asked, slipping his coat off and hanging it up on hooks in the dining room area.

“Oh. Uh. Water’d be great, actually.”

* * *

 

Step Four: Uhhhhh???

They sat at Roderich’s counter, sipping water in what Gilbert supposed was a comfortable silence. It wasn’t completely comfortable but it was, at least, more comfortable than it would have been if he had any reason to believe Roderich had invited him into his apartment for sex. That was one small comfort, though Gilbert could kind of feel Francis keeling over somewhere even at his mental admission of it.

Then with Roderich’s small question of, “Can we talk?” all of that uneasy comfort evaporated in an instant.

 _About what?_ Gilbert asked via phone memo, hunching over the counter.

“Well, I just...” Roderich wasn’t meeting his eyes. His wide, panicked eyes. “I feel like I haven’t been spending enough time with you. I’m always so busy with work and music, these past months just...flew by, and we’ve hardly spent time together, I...” He looked up, and finally noticed Gilbert’s expression. “I...are you okay?”

 _it sounds like youre breaking up with me_ , Gilbert typed out, with some difficulty. Roderich read it. Then he read it again, and his eyebrows went up.

“No!” he nearly shouted. His hand flew over his mouth. “I... _no_ ,” he said, at a much more reasonable volume, flattening his hand out in a placating manner. “No, not at all, I...I’m sorry, I just meant to ask...how do _you_ feel? Do you feel like I’ve been making enough time for you?”

Gilbert blinked. Then he let out a heavy, relieved sigh, and nodded.

“Are you sure?”

 _i never even thought about it_ , he replied.

“Ah,” went Roderich. “Well, that’s relieving.” Gilbert offered his hand, and Roderich took it, visibly relaxing. “I’m sorry,” he continued. “I worry about everything...”

Gilbert smiled, a little unsure. _Same_ , he signed, and Roderich raised his eyebrows at him.

“Do you...want to talk about it?”

Gilbert rolled his head from side to side, thinking. “Um,” he said, and, no, that wasn’t going to work. He grabbed his phone again, taking his hand back.

_i was worrying abt kind of the same thing. you do so many things and know cool places to go but i dont even go out that much and i thought maybe i was being boring or something or like i didnt want to spend time with you but i REALLY DO i just dont know how_

He slid his phone over, practically feeling the nervous energy rolling off of Roderich in little, erratic waves due to the time he took to type that out. But he read it carefully, and smiled.

“Oh, Gilbert,” he said, and there was a little cheerful spark that went off in his head just from hearing Roderich say his name. “I never thought that at all. And you can always just...” he shrugged. “Invite me over, and we could play video games or take care of your bird or...blog, or whatever. Any of that.”

“But,” Gilbert said, frowning. Then, with his hands, _you don’t like any of that_.

“It’s not about what we’re _doing_ , it’s about spending time with you. And, who knows. I might. Your bird _is_ very cute.”

“I’ll tell him you said so,” Gilbert said, hoarsely. Then he sniffed, and tried to pretend that he didn’t, but Roderich was already giving him that pitiful smile. “Shit, I must have had too much to drink, or something,” he grumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

Roderich just drank his water, and Gilbert finally composed himself, sitting up.

“Hey,” he said, nudging Roderich gently with his elbow.

“Hm?”

“Play piano for me?”

That, apparently, was all he had to ask.

* * *

 

Roderich was on his feet embarrassingly quick, and took Gilbert’s hands, gently urging him towards the living room. “What do you want me to play?” he asked, smiling as Gilbert swung around in his chair to follow him.

“You compose, right?”

“Sometimes,” he said, modestly, sitting down in the middle of the piano bench. Gilbert hovered awkwardly for a moment, before Roderich patted the bench next to him and he took a seat.

“So show me what you’re working on.”

“Well...” Roderich reached up and grabbed some of the papers sitting on top of the piano. “There are a few things...” A few. There were a lot. And there would always be a lot, because unless Roderich had a very strong motive, he had a hard time actually sticking to one piece long enough to work on it until he was satisfied.

Though to be fair, he wasn’t that easily satisfied when it come to his own work. Most things he simply gave up on and tied up before sending them away so that he got his paycheck and never had to hear them again.

There were some, though, that sounded promising...

He thumbed through the stack of papers, tunes jumping to mind just from glancing over the scribbled notes. He never liked playing things for people before he finished them, but maybe he could make a small exception tonight. Just a little one.

He pulled out a couple sheets of paper and placed them on the music rest before uncovering the keys, with a practiced enough hand that the dust cover hardly made a sound as he stowed it away.

Gilbert leaned forward to look at the music, putting his nose barely inches away from it.

“...is this printed off, or did you write this by hand?” he asked, frowning.

“I...wrote it. With a pen.”

“Wow. Huh.” He sat back again, and then grinned, politely folding his hands in his lap.

Right. Roderich straightened his posture, laid his hands softly on the keys, and then took a deep breath before striking the first few notes. He’d picked something flighty, a song that jumped up and down octaves, a little more lively than his usual work but...well, this kind of thing was impressive to play, even if it wasn’t the kind of sound he liked particularly. He’d show off hands now, and actual ear for music later.

Everything fell away as the first few measures passed. A song like this took his full concentration, and even if it didn’t, it was _music_ , and there was something so intrinsically calming about it, about pulling the exact volume from the piano and sending his hands up complicated scales that he hardly even had to think about anymore, eyes barely leaving the music.

The last chord faded into the quiet apartment, and Roderich smiled. That went well, he thought, though after having left it for so long, there were definitely some improvements he could make. He glanced at Gilbert, curious for his feedback.

Gilbert was staring at the piano, mouth slightly agape, completely stunned.

“Um,” went Roderich.

Gilbert blinked. “That was...” he said, slowly. “...Wow.”

Roderich smiled, trying hard to gracefully contain the pure joy bubbling up in his chest at just those few words. “Thank you,” he said. “Would you like to hear another?”

“Yes!” he said, immediately. “A million more!”

Roderich laughed, shifting through his papers again. “Maybe two,” he said. Though there was one in particular... “Can you play?”

“Uh, a little.” Gilbert shrugged. “Not like _that_ , but I have, like...Fur Elise down pretty well.”

“That’s not an easy piece,” Roderich said, politely, pulling out a particular song from his pile. “It’s just...I’ve been working on something for two, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to help me with it?”

“Sure, I guess. What’s my part?”

Roderich smiled, and put the music out on the piano. “Can you read music?”

Gilbert leaned forward again, squinting at the paper. Then, “Nah, this is tiny. Just show me.”

“Well...on the octaves you’re in front of, most of what I have for the bass clef is this line...” He demonstrated on the side of the piano he had available. It was mostly simple chord progressions for the first half of the song, so perhaps that was all he would try to get out of this today.

Once he was done, he turned to Gilbert to ask if he needed to hear it again, but before he could, Gilbert’s hands were on the keys, fumbling through the line. Fumbling as in, he had to correct a few notes, but by the second round through, he had gotten it.

Interesting.

“Then eight measures in, the key changes to this--” Roderich struck the first chord, but by the second, Gilbert was playing along, perfectly following the modification.

“Alright, I think I got it,” Gilbert said, grinning.

“Are you sure?”

“Nah, but I can catch up.”

Roderich smiled, slightly, not sure what to make of that. “Well, alright. There’s a pickup note, and then you come in.”

“Okay, I’m ready,” he said, grinning and holding his hands with less than perfect posture over the keys. Oh, well. Roderich would correct him later, if he felt the need.

“ _One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two--_ ”

He began, slower than the intended tempo, and Gilbert came in at exactly the right time, even if his notes were a little heavy. He was competent at playing, though he did seem to be speeding up a little. Roderich allowed him this. The key change happened without event, but then a couple of measures later Gilbert changed the key again. Roderich followed the switch automatically, but spared a glance at Gilbert, questioning.

He was met with a smirk.

 _Oh_. So _that’s_ how it was.

Roderich switched the key himself to something wholly new, and Gilbert wasn’t phased, playing his part and adding a few flourishes of his own. Some not really what Roderich would have chosen, but considering the nature of the song, he let it be.

Besides, they were hardly playing what was on the paper by this point anyways. Gilbert pulled back, the deep bass notes easily enforcing a new tempo, and Roderich went along, with _style_. He pulled out a few of the more complicated tricks he had up his sleeve, smugly leaping over Gilbert’s hand to steal from an octave if he needed to, though that just spurred his boyfriend to steadily increase his speed, creeping towards the right of the piano, obviously testing to see if he could twist Roderich’s fingers.

There was no test. Well, perhaps there was--it had been a while since he’d had to think this quickly on his feet, so to say, but he flawlessly followed through on key changes and fluctuating tempo until Gilbert’s hands more or less stilled, playing the notes of a single chord, slowing until Roderich was plucking out a few penultimate notes, and then finally echoing his tonic chord, letting the sound ring.

Roderich’s heart was pounding in his chest. On another night, he may have been embarrassed by his enthusiasm, but--

He turned to Gilbert, and spoke before he could think; “May I kiss you?”

Gilbert stared at him for a moment, stunned. He nodded, slowly--then, much more enthusiastically, and Roderich leaned over, placed his hands on his face, and kissed him, perhaps with a little more force than necessary.

He adjusted himself slightly from the first awkward attempt, and so did Gilbert, and then they got it, lips finding each other, one of Gilbert’s hands ever so tentatively sliding onto Roderich’s waist.

Roderich leaned back, and Gilbert followed him with a quiet pleading whine, but all it took was a hand on his chest for him to retreat. Roderich couldn’t help a breathless laugh.

“Just a moment, please,” he requested, and took his glasses off, carefully folding them and placing them on top of the piano, well out of the way. Then he put his arms around Gilbert’s shoulders and pulled him back into the kiss, lips parted, and Gilbert followed suit, leaning into him, but otherwise mostly receptive to Roderich’s lead, reciprocating everything in turn as Roderich finally got out of his system what he’d been wanting to do since--well, since their very first date, really, one of his hands digging into the fabric at Gilbert’s back, mouths sliding against each other, Gilbert’s tongue coaxing out quiet gasps and groans.

He didn’t know how long it was when they finally broke apart, panting, Roderich not able to keep from smiling.

Gilbert brought a hand up to the side of his face and ran his thumb along Roderich’s cheek, touch surprisingly gentle. He glanced up, meeting those pale eyes, and--

A bell rang, deeply, somewhere in the distance. Gilbert looked up, towards the window.

“Oh,” went Roderich, as the continuing rings rudely forced him back to reality outside of...well, his boyfriend, right in front of him. “That’s the church.”

Gilbert sat up, and slid his phone out of his pocket, checking it for just a moment. “Happy New Year,” he said.

“Is that what that is,” Roderich said, still a little spacy. “Well, I’d say it’s off to a good start.”

“We haven’t kissed yet, though.”

“Sorry?”

“Not since last year.”

Roderich laughed, and Gilbert grinned along with him. “Such a long time ago!” he said. “We’ll have to fix that.”

Gilbert leaned forward, until their noses were touching. “We should.”

So Roderich kissed him, again, only having trouble fighting back his smile long enough to do it properly. Then Gilbert was pushing him back, and back, until he fell against the piano bench, head hanging off the side.

“Oh,” he went. Then, “Pull me down a little.”

Gilbert did, with surprising ease, in fact, until Roderich was wholly, and comfortably, on the bench. His shirt had ridden up a little at this, and he wasn’t entirely sure there was room enough for the both of them on there but Gilbert was apparently making it work because he was kissing him again, and that was kind of all that mattered.

Gilbert slowed them down, kissing him almost curiously, nipping at his lips, then moving down to mouth at his jaw and neck, breath raising goosebumps on Roderich’s skin as he moved towards his collar.

He thumbed at one of the buttons there. “Can I...?”

Habitual alarm bells went off in Roderich’s head, but he was _enjoying_ himself, anxiety be damned. “Yes,” he said, tilting his head back. “Please do.”

Gilbert undid two buttons, just enough to pull the shirt aside and kiss his collarbone, his shoulder--Roderich closed his eyes, humming contentedly as Gilbert worked his way back up his neck, his jaw, back to his mouth with little, gentle pecks that had Roderich leaning up, searching for more.

Gilbert chuckled, low and rough, and said--”Wouldn’t it be hot if I fucked you here?”

Oh.

Roderich’s eyes flew open, and his heart begin pounding in his chest in a much less pleasant manner.

“Gilbert. Stop.”

To his credit, he did, immediately, propping himself up over Roderich with a confused expression. Roderich considered for a moment telling him off and, perhaps, letting things continue as they were, but no. He became suddenly very aware of his shirt hanging open and his current position, and his newfound anxiety quickly turned any pleasure into shame and embarrassment.

He sat up, shoving Gilbert out of the way and hurriedly buttoned his shirt, crossing his legs, face burning red. “Is that what you want?” he snapped, not meeting his eyes. But then Gilbert’s hand was beckoning in the corner of his vision, and he supposed he should really...listen.

He glanced over, and Gilbert was staring at the piano keys, shaking his head. _I forgot_ , he signed, hand balling into a fist at the end and hitting his forehead, a little roughly, screwing his eyes shut, before dropping to his chest. _I forgot. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry_.

Roderich huffed, crossing his arms. He wasn’t going to forgive him. Not yet. He couldn’t. He felt...he was feeling all sorts of nasty things, and “understanding” and “forgiveness” weren’t so quickly going to bubble to the top.

_Do you want me to go?_

Roderich frowned. Then he sighed, deeply, uncrossing his arms. “No,” he said. He didn’t want to end their night on a note like this, especially since Gilbert seemed to be genuinely apologetic at his misstep. But...“If you could go sit in the kitchen and wait for me. I think I need a moment.”

It was a test, of sorts, Roderich supposed, and Gilbert’s nodding and leaving him alone let some of his anxiety fade away, knowing he _did_ have control over the situation. That Gilbert knew the word “stop” was a command not to be argued with and showed immediate remorse at stepping over that boundary.

Roderich sat there, hands folded in his lap, until he more or less calmed down, and decided that he did not want to be dressed like this anymore. He went to his bedroom and changed, after some consideration, into his pajamas, before going back to his piano and playing nothing in particular, just going through the motions and echoing a few of his favorite melodic lines.

He was calm. He was safe.

He took a deep breath and went back to the kitchen, to find Gilbert looking through his refrigerator.

“Need something?”

His boyfriend froze, and then looked at him, very slowly shutting the refrigerator door.

He couldn’t help but laugh, perhaps a little harder than the situation called for as the relief washed over him. Gilbert gave him a crooked smile when he walked over.

 _You O-K?_ he signed.

“Yes, I think so.” He leaned up and placed a brief kiss on the side of Gilbert’s mouth. “But don’t do that again. Not even as a joke.”

He nodded, looking at the floor. _Sorry_.

“I forgive you, this time. I do want to talk about this, though.”

Gilbert slouched. _Now?_

“It seems pertinent.”

He sighed, and nodded, motioning for Roderich to go on.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” It wasn’t really a question he wanted to ask, but it was better than letting things go unsaid. He needed to know where they stood.

Gilbert thought about it for a moment. Then, he shrugged, bringing a hand up and tapping his fingers against his palm, something Roderich had learned to recognize as his own little filler sign. _Umm..._

He frowned, and pat his pockets instead, pulling out his phone. _This is going to sound cheesy_ , he showed him. Roderich raised an eyebrow. _I dont think ive ever felt this way about anyone else before_.

“Oh,” he went. His initial reaction was to feel flattered, but he wasn’t entirely sure he was happy with this development. “And if I said that we were never going to sleep together...?”

Gilbert frowned in some unreadable expression. _Well, yeah_ , he said.

“What do you mean?”

He took a moment to frown at his phone before typing out his response, slowly. _i knew that. that’s how it is. im not surprised?_

“ _Yes_ , but...” Roderich frowned. That was admittedly a much better answer than he’d been prepared for. “How do you feel about that? Disappointed? Frustrated?”

Gilbert shrugged, again. _just kind of curious ig. ill survive_.

Roderich stared at the screen. Then he laughed, shaking his head. “You are _wonderful_.”

Gilbert flushed, and Roderich couldn’t help stepping forward, taking his face in his hands again. “Come here...”

Gilbert met his kiss halfway, then Roderich hugged him, burying his face in his shoulder. Gilbert hugged him back (after a little bit of maneuvering), sighing contentedly.

He traced something on Roderich’s back with a finger, and Roderich smiled.

“Is that a heart?”

He nodded.

Roderich held him tighter. “ _Me, too_.”

* * *

 

_“Francis’ last name wouldn’t happen to be Bonnefoy, would it?”_

_“????? yeah it is why?”_

_“Oh.”_

_“??????? OH NO WHY??”_

_“I think my ex-girlfriend dated a Francis Bonnefoy...”_

_“the gf you slept with????”_

_“Yes...”_

_“OH NO”_

_“Oh, no...”_


	8. Chapter 8

Gilbert walked backwards, urging their shopping cart forwards as West carefully considered the merits of various brands of cheeses. He never used to be that picky about it, more than willing to grab the cheapest option and be done with it, but now that Feli was teaching him more about cooking, or whatever...

Speaking of.

Gilbert pushed the cart back, the handle hitting West’s arm just hard enough to annoy him. He looked up at Gilbert, frowning, no doubt pulled from his very deep cheese reverie.

“Hey, West, I have a question.”

His brother frowned deeper, placing a wedge of cheese in the cart and finally moving along. That was one goal accomplished, at least. “What?”

“Are you in love with Feli?”

There was one of his _faces,_ though Gilbert was sure he was already expecting some sort of question like that. “I. Suppose I am, yes.”

“What’s that like?”

West sighed. “Can’t we talk about this some other time?”

“Nope. You can’t wiggle away from me here.” Gilbert stepped up onto the front of the almost empty cart, and West quickly grabbed the handle to balance it out. Always reliable. “Come on, help your brother out. I’m bad at this relationship stuff and you’re the only person I have to talk to about it.”

“You have Francis,” West said. Gilbert stared at him, silent, until his brother looked up from groceries to actually meet his eye. “...you’re right, that’s probably not a good idea.”

“Yeah. So, tell me, come on. Is it butterflies? Is it floating? Is it everything they say in the movies? Is it, fucking, Nirvana or something?” That’s about what everyone made it out to be.

“No,” said West. “I don’t think it’s Nirvana.” He stopped to look at apples, keeping one foot firmly on the front of the cart. “I do get nervous, but that’s not really...what it is. I...I’m nervous because I like him, but the reason I like him is because he calms me down. I feel...safe. Uh...” He furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t make any sense, does it.”

“No,” agreed Gilbert.

“Why are you asking, anyways?”

“‘Cause I think I might be in love with Roddy but I don’t know.”

“Well...why do you think that?”

Gilbert frowned, digging through his head for an answer. “There’s just...” he started. There was this _feeling_ and, “It’s like...” whenever Roderich just...he huffed, frustrated.

“Yeah,” went West.

“Okay,” said Gilbert. “Never mind.”

* * *

 

Roderich walked around yet another street corner, one hand stuck in his coat pocket as the other one flipped his phone between Gilbert’s directions and a map application. Right, so, from here, it should just be another turn around the corner ahead of him, but hadn’t he already walked this way before, and...he turned his phone to view the map at an angle, but instead the phone flipped the screen, which is _not_ what he...

He really should have asked to meet somewhere that he knew how to get to. This was starting to become embarrassing.

Thankfully, it was at that moment a call from Gilbert appeared on his screen, which he answered immediately.

“Hello,” he said, relieved.

“Is that you?” asked Gilbert.

“I...sorry?”

“Uh, hold on.”

There was the sound of some sliding mechanism, a door maybe, and then a displeased hiss. “Fuck, it’s cold,” Gilbert said, muffled. Then, “Okay, look to your left.”

Roderich did. There was a building right next to him, so there wasn’t much to see.

“Wait, your other left.”

“My right, you mean?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He huffed, and looked to his right--it _was_ his right--, across the street. Now that he actually took a moment to notice, that did look like an apartment building, didn’t it...

“I’m three floors up. Do you see me?”

Roderich glanced up, and--ah, so he was, leaning out his window and waving at him. Leaning a little much, actually, “Gilbert!” he said, “Get back inside, you’ll hurt yourself!”

This was met by an amused snicker, but he did, at least, disappear from the window. “Okay, okay,” Gilbert said, “I’ll come down and meet you, alright?” He hung up, and the window slid shut.

* * *

 

Gilbert fidgeted all the way up the couple floors to his apartment door, a ball of nervous energy, despite the grin plastered on his face. Roderich took his arm in an attempt to calm him down.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked, with a placating smile.

“No,” Gilbert said, somewhat automatically, but his grin finally dropped. “Just...” He stopped in front of a door. “...Our apartment’s not as nice as yours.”

“I’m not expecting it to be.”

He grumbled something indistinct, but nevertheless opened the door, leading the way into a dimly lit and somewhat dingy apartment.

Roderich didn’t get much of a chance to look over it, however, because not a few seconds after stepping in there was suddenly a very loud and very energetic head of red hair in his face.

“Roderich!” it said, grinning and then kissing him on both cheeks in turn, before finally stepping back to get a good look at him. _It_ being a shorter, rounder man, who was currently hanging on to Roderich’s arms and giving him a look-over. “It’s so good to finally meet you!”

That’s what he was. The human version of an exclamation point.

“Oh, yeah,” went Gilbert. “Feli is here. By the way.”

 _Is he_. “It’s...nice to meet you, too,” Roderich said, finally recovering. He held out a hand, and ‘Feli’ shook it vigorously.

“I’m Feliciano! I’m Ludwig’s soulmate. Oh,” he looked surprised for a moment, and then dropped his voice to almost a whisper. “I forgot, he’s sleeping right now, so we should be quiet.”

Gilbert very seriously put a finger to his lips, nodding. “We’re not even here,” he whispered conspiratorially, and then lead Roderich to a short hallway, at the end of which was his bedroom.

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready,” Feliciano whisper-called after them before they disappeared into the room.

It was...messy, at first glance, but not really. Everything seemed to have its own spot, even if that spot was piling up on the floor or covering the entire surface of a desk barely visible against the wall.

“Sorry,” Gilbert said, stepping over a stack of books to sit down on his bed. He pat the blanket next to him, so Roderich joined him, carefully. “I tried to clean up a little, but...yeah...”

“I don’t mind,” he reassured, looking around. It was a small room. Very small. If he felt like stretching across from where he was, he might have been able to grab something from the desk on the opposite wall. The stacks of things sitting in nearly every corner didn’t help make it seem any bigger, either, but it was less cramped and more...cozy.

He picked up a book off the top of a pile and looked it over. It was a paperback in well-read condition, and at a glance it seemed to be about...European history? The next book in the pile looked to be over a similar subject.

“Do you read these?” he asked, looking over to see Gilbert messing with a cage at the foot--no, the head?--of the bed. He turned and looked at him, surprised.

“Huh?” he asked.

“These books. I asked if you read these.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Gilbert pulled his hand out of the cage, and a little yellow bird came with it, perching on his finger and looking around. “I mean, I’ve read about half of those over there. Some of them are pretty boring. Do you wanna hold him?”

He held the bird out to him, and Roderich blinked, surprised. “I...if he wouldn’t mind.”

“Nah. Here, do this.” Gilbert held his other hand up, with his index finger out. “Then you just hold it out in front of him and he’ll hop on you.” He demonstrated, and the bird obligingly jumped to his other hand. Gilbert stroked its feathers, and the bird settled onto his finger.

Roderich followed his instructions, a little warily. He wasn’t used to handling animals, and didn’t want to...didn’t want to _something_. His worry was completely unfounded, however, as the little bird easily hopped onto his finger, tiny talons tickling his skin as it shuffled around curiously.

“Oh,” he went. “He’s...very well trained.” He slowly moved his hand closer to get a better look. The bird didn’t seem to mind, until he brought his other hand up to stroke its feathers--at which point it jumped away and fluttered back to Gilbert, hiding itself in his hand.

“Guess he’s still a little shy,” Gilbert said, rubbing a finger over its chest. “I bet he’ll warm up to you eventually.”

“I do hope so,” Roderich said, smiling. He felt a little bit like if he were ever to ask for Gilbert’s hand in marriage, he’d have to consult Ludwig first, and then his bird.

Not that he was planning on that, at least anytime soon...but it was something to consider.

Gilbert waved his hand a little, and then clicked his tongue, prompting the bird to flutter off to another part of the room, alighting on his desk. Free from his burden, Gilbert flopped backwards, laying with his legs dangling off the edge of the bed. Roderich shifted back a little to sit looking down at him.

“So,” Gilbert said, holding his arms up. “Here’s my place. West’s room is next door.” He tapped the wall behind them. “We have a kitchen and a bathroom and nearly enough room for both of us.”

“It’s nice,” Roderich said. Gilbert looked incredulous at this, squinting at him. “Really! It’s very...you.”

“And that’s good, ‘cause you like me.”

“I do like you,” he agreed, brushing a strand of hair away from Gilbert’s face. Then he leaned down and placed a kiss on his forehead. “Very much so.”

Gilbert blushed, no doubt unsuspecting of such a sincere answer to his teasing. Then, “Hey.”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever been in love before?”

Roderich frowned in thought. The bird flew back over onto the cage, its talons tapping against the metal grid. “I may have been. Why do you ask?”

“‘Cause...what’s it like? What’s it feel like?”

“Ah,” went Roderich. “Hm...”

That was...quite the question. He wasn’t sure it was something he could pin down to any one feeling. But even if he could...

“Here,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Give me just a moment.”

Gilbert waited very patiently as Roderich scrolled through his music library, considering the songs there. When he finally found the right one, he placed his phone down on the bed and played it, hoping the music would do the talking for him.

Gilbert gave him a confused look at first, but quickly settled into listening, closing his eyes and relaxing into the music.

It wasn’t a long song, but it gave Roderich enough time to look over Gilbert’s face, the soft expression foreign on him, only serving to accent the harsh lines of his jaw, his nose, his mouth parted just enough to reveal two ever-so-slightly crooked teeth--everything that was just so _Gilbert_ , that Roderich wanted to keep in his heart forever.

The music left them in silence, and Roderich found the words he was looking for.

“It’s something very mundane,” he said, smiling when Gilbert’s eyes opened to look at him. “That’s what’s so wonderful about it. It’s not, at its core, something that surprises you and sweeps you off your feet, it’s something that stays around quietly and is always there when you go to find it. It’s...stability, and knowing that no matter what you feel now, whether you’re happy or sad or angry, that you’ll always have somewhere to come back to and someone to share that with.”

He flushed as Gilbert did nothing but stare at him. “Does that make sense?”

Gilbert nodded, with a vaguely agreeing grunt. “I guess,” he clarified. Then, “Like...when being around someone feels like home?”

Roderich’s smile returned. “Yes, that’s an excellent way of putting it.”

Gilbert looked away. Roderich tilted his head slightly, wondering if perhaps his answer wasn’t good enough, but then Gilbert sat up and took one of his hands, looking uncertainly into his eyes.

“That’s...kind of how I’m starting to feel when I’m around you.”

Roderich blinked, trying to catch up with that statement, his heart hammering against his chest--and then the bird flew over and landed in Gilbert’s hair.

He couldn’t help it--he laughed, covering his face with his free hand as Gilbert grumpily muttered something at his bird. But with the tension gone, he felt no hesitance in placing a hand on Gilbert’s face, those blue eyes glancing at him, questioning, and placing a soft kiss on the side of his mouth. Gilbert turned into it, and Roderich smiled.

 _Whatever did I do to deserve you_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imagine whatever you'd like but https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sK9MXodyhtM


	9. Chapter 9

Roderich was sitting, perfectly content, at a cafe in the early morning, enjoying the quiet bustle of people postponing the beginning of their day, when someone abruptly sat across from him. He looked up, and first saw the unmistakable apron of the employee uniform. Then a face; a familiar one. Though, once realization hit, he couldn’t say he was any less confused.

“ _Bonjour_ , Roderich,” said Francis, in his accent that would have seemed cartoonish on anyone else.

“Hello,” he replied, hesitantly, placing his coffee on the table. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“When it suits me.”

Roderich frowned. He felt like he was being pulled into something against his will that amounted to more than a simple conversation.

“Since you’re here, I think it’s time we had a talk,” Francis said, leaning forward. His accent was slipping. Roderich wasn’t sure whether he should be alarmed over this or not. “You see, despite Gilbert’s sometimes rough exterior, he is in fact a very sensitive man.”

“I have noticed that,” Roderich said, lightly. Francis looked taken aback for a moment, but quickly continued his spiel.

“I have a sense of obligation for duties rendered in the past to protect _mon ami_ to the best of my ability. So, I must ask. You are taking good care of him?”

“Are you asking my intentions?” Roderich took a drink of his coffee to hide his smile. It seemed to him like Francis was expecting a much more straight-forward conversation--or rather, a much more intimidating one. “I’m not sure I plan on marrying him quite yet, but...” He looked down at the table, thinking over where the rest of his sentence should go. All he could really be sure of was: ”I plan on holding onto him for as long as I can.” He looked back up. “Are you happy with that?”

“No,” Francis huffed, pouting. Roderich blinked. “Now I am terribly jealous. How did Gilbert manage to find such a wonderful, beautiful man?” He stood up and stomped away, mumbling something about _sleeping on the subway, if that’s where they’re all hiding._

Roderich allowed himself a quiet laugh once he was sure Francis was out of earshot. He was fairly sure that was a vote of approval. Or, at least, he could hope it was.

* * *

 

The curtains in Roderich’s bedroom swayed gently in the soft morning glow, the city almost quiet for once in the calm early hours, the only sound the rustling of the wind and Gilbert’s steady breathing behind him. Faint notes ringing in the back of his head, describing the scene. Perhaps he’d capture them later.

He stretched, rolled over, to find Gilbert’s back, his shoulder rising and falling with his breath, and--

The music stopped. Something else pulled at Roderich’s mind, dragging his eyes up to Gilbert’s neck...

He rolled over, again, and folded a pillow over his head, frowning at the wall. He wouldn’t. He had no place, it was a violation of Gilbert’s trust, it--

 _It was right there_.

His grip on his pillow loosened, as a desire nearly as old as he was pulled at him, and he slowly turned around again, now aware of every noise he made as fabric shifted beneath him, the quiet creaking of the mattress springs under his weight. Gilbert wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t. Roderich would just satiate his curiosity, and then never mention it again.

He reached out and brushed aside the short hair resting over the writing on Gilbert’s neck, the black marks easily visible against his skin even in the early morning light, and--

Roderich gasped, and pulled his hand back, but not fast enough. Gilbert stirred, one of his hands going at first lethargically to his neck, rubbing at it, until realization stiffened his shoulders. He turned, giving Roderich a look half betrayed, half confused, withholding judgment. He sat up.

“Did you...” He croaked, voice rough with what Roderich hoped was just sleep. He sat up, too, slowly, stalling for time.

 _No_ , said his first instinct. He swallowed his guilt. “I...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...”

Gilbert’s expression turned hard for a moment, unreadable, before he threw the covers off and left the room without even a second glance.

“Gilbert!”

Roderich’s throat burned. He knew he had no place begging forgiveness, but he couldn’t let Gilbert go like this.

He got up and followed him, worried for a moment at the empty living room, kitchen, but he hadn’t heard the front door open, so--ah. The balcony. He opened the door leading off from his dining room and found Gilbert sitting curled up on the little platform, arms wrapped around his legs, staring forward at the few trees swaying against the sunrise.

Roderich stepped forward, slowly, and sat down when he wasn’t ushered away. Gilbert didn’t acknowledge him at first. When he did, it was by shifting his hands up to cover his neck and hunching over, shielding himself. Roderich’s heart ached.

“I’m sorry,” he said, again. “I’m not expecting you to forgive me, but...I am sorry. I...you have every right to be upset.”

He sighed, looking at the ground. He wanted so badly for Gilbert to smile and say it was okay, that everyone makes mistakes, but it wasn’t the time for that. Maybe it wouldn’t ever be. Roderich tried not to think about that.

Gilbert finally acknowledged him, and not in a kind manner, swinging his arm out to smack him in the shoulder, a rough way of getting his attention. Roderich looked over, frowning.

Gilbert moved one of his hands just enough to point at the back of his neck, then vaguely at Roderich, expression unchanging. Roderich willed himself to understand, but it wasn’t really a complete sentence. “I’m sorry, I don’t...”

He huffed, irritated, and Roderich felt himself shrink back, emotionally if not physically. Gilbert tried again, tapping the back of his neck, then signing _Roderich_ , with a slight raise of his eyebrows. _This. Roderich?_

_‘Is it you?’_

Roderich worried his bottom lip between his teeth and then nodded, slightly. The script was a familiar one, the scrawling of his own pen when he was in a rush. Irate. In retrospect, he wished he could do their first meeting over again. Start out with something softer, kinder.

He could see now why Gilbert wasn’t a fan of the concept.

Roderich waited anxiously for the reaction, _any_ reaction, but it didn’t come. Gilbert just sat there, staring ahead, hands folded, brows drawn slightly together, like he was too tired to feel much of anything.

After a few long, stretching moments, he finally signed, fingers lose: _I’m going home_. _I need to think_.

Roderich nodded, stifling his protest. Though when Gilbert got up to leave, he let himself ask the one question he needed an answer to.

“I’ll see you soon?”

Gilbert stopped, hand on the doorknob. After a moment, he nodded.

That was enough.

* * *

 

Ludwig sat at their kitchen table with his laptop, scrolling blindly through the next twenty pages of his reading. Far from insurmountable, but it certainly didn’t feel that way at the time. He’d trudged his way through too much work already, and besides; something was wrong with Gilbert, and that made things hard to focus on.

He hadn’t said as much, but it was obvious. His brother had been home for the past few days, not going out with friends or with Roderich, and Ludwig was sure he hadn’t been eating enough. Furthermore, he was being quiet. And as much of a surprise as certain people may find it, Gilbert was not, in general, a quiet person.

Obvious.

Ludwig had thought a little bit of space was the right decision, to give him time to ask for help himself if he wanted it, but he was beginning to worry.

Gilbert shuffled out of his room for the upteenth time that day, still dressed in his sleep clothes, dragging his feet into the kitchen and poking around in the cabinets and fridge. He wouldn’t find anything. Best case, he would drag a bag of chips or crackers to his room and disappear for another few hours.

Maybe it was time for a little bit of pushing.

“Gilbert,” Ludwig said, tilting his laptop screen down. “Are you feeling alright? You’ve been acting strangely these past few days.”

“‘M fine,” grunted Gilbert, but Ludwig knew that was more of an automatic response. One of Gilbert’s hands moved to rub at the back of his neck, and Ludwig waited patiently. After a few moments, his brother finally turned around, looking more at the table than Ludwig himself.

“Roderich,” he started, and that was nearly answer enough in itself. Gilbert struggled to continue, frowning and wringing his hands. A word problem, not a speech problem, then. “I was asleep. He looked at my neck and we’re soulmates or something, I guess...”

A part of Ludwig couldn’t help but be happy at the news. It was a small violation of privacy, but if that was the conclusion it led to...

He decided not to voice that opinion. Obviously, Gilbert felt differently.

“And you’re not happy about that...” he prompted, somewhat dully. He was a little out of practice with this, what with Feliciano always presenting his feelings so openly at every opportunity.

“I just--” Gilbert huffed, and waved his hands widely before covering his face and giving a frustrated groan. “I don’t _want_ a soulmate,” he said, muffled. He let his hands fall to his side again. “I just want it to be Roderich and me and that’s it. No fate. Just my choice.”

“It _is_ your choice,” Ludwig said, frowning. Gilbert mirrored his expression, looking up at him. “You’re with him because you like him, not because he’s your soulmate. You didn’t even know at first. And now you have the choice to leave him or stay with him.”

“I’m not going to dump him just because he’s my soulmate. That’d be even more fucked up.”

“Then don’t.”

“But,” went Gilbert. He tilted his head, frowning intently at the floor under their table. “...Yeah. I guess.”

He sighed, and shook his head, grabbing an apple off the counter and going back to his room.

Well, he was eating fruit, at least. Hopefully that meant he was feeling a little better.

Ludwig waited for a moment before picking up his phone and sending a text to Feliciano.

 _‘You were right. How did you know?_ ’

* * *

 

Roderich lept up from his piano embarrassingly quickly when there was a knock at his door, and he hoped with all of his being that it wasn’t simply a too-friendly neighbor or a postman getting him excited for nothing.

He forced himself to walk to the door at a reasonable pace, stood there for a moment to take a deep breath, and finally opened it.

There was a bouquet of flowers on the other side, which were quickly presented much closer to Roderich’s face. He took them, and discovered a blushing Gilbert hiding out in his doorway.

Roderich laughed, mostly in relief. “I feel like _I_ should be the one buying flowers.”

Gilbert’s expression sank, and Roderich shook his head, attempting to salvage the mess he’d made before they’d even begun. “Let me start over. They’re lovely, thank you. Please come in.”

He let Gilbert inside, and then went to his kitchen to get water for the flowers, nervous energy compelling him to keep his hands busy. Thankfully, he had a vase lying around. Even more thankfully, Gilbert tailed him into the kitchen.

“You don’t have a couch,” he said.

Roderich blinked. “I’m...sorry?”

“You don’t have a couch,” Gilbert repeated. “Your living room looks weird and that’s why.”

“Oh,” he went. “I suppose that is a little strange.”

“Yeah,” went Gilbert. Then he crossed his arms, and huffed, and kicked one of his shoes against the tiles of the kitchen floor, looking so much like a child who was being forced to apologize to someone he’d been teasing. “So, anyways, I forgive you and love you a lot and. Stuff. Uh. If...well, if fate’s gonna stick me with someone forever then...I’m kinda glad it’s you...”

“Oh,” Roderich went, again, because he wasn’t sure how to get any words past the joy bubbling up in his chest, leaking out through his eyes. Was that really…? Could this really be it? “Oh, Gilbert...”

Gilbert looked up at him, confused, and Roderich placed his hands on his arms, gently, moving them downwards to coax them uncrossed and finally taking Gilbert’s hands in his.

“I love you, too,” he said. “More than I can say. And…” he glanced away, just for a moment. “I am…so sorry. For what I did.”

Gilbert sniffed, and then huffed, turning a little pink. “Whatever...why don’t _you_ have one. Uh, a phrase, not a couch.”

Roderich blinked, taken aback by the subject change. He turned their hands over to look at the markings on his left, frowning. “That’s a very good question. You did speak to me, after all.”

“Maybe I missed my chance when we first met.”

“Maybe,” Roderich said, more to himself. Something about that didn’t feel right. An idea was slowly creeping into his brain, but he wasn’t sure what to make of it yet. He wasn’t sure he was willing to _hope_ for it. “What _was_ the first thing you said to me?”

“Uhh,” went Gilbert, brow furrowing in laborious recollection. “On our date...”

“No, no, when we first met. You were staring at me, and I very unkindly snapped at you, and you...”

Roderich let go of Gilbert to make a fist, and bring it to his chest to sign _sorry_.

“Oh yeah. I guess that’s kind of it.”

“Hm.” He moved his hand out in front of him again, finding the marks disjointed, as usual. Maybe his hunch was nothing, then.

But then, Gilbert perked up, eager to share his knowledge. “That’s an S,” he said.

Roderich looked up at him, questioning. “It’s what?”

“An S.” Gilbert held his hand up in the same shape as Roderich’s, though on him it was obvious he was signing the letter _S_. “Like ‘sorry.’ Some people do that, but I do A like ‘apologize.’ ”

Roderich thought for a moment, and then changed his handshape to an _A_. The position was immediately familiar to him. Of course--he’d discovered long ago that this was how the lines connected, forming a perfect circle around the contours of his hand.

A circle.

He brought his hand to his chest again, moving it, slowly, dazedly, in a _circle_. ‘ _Sorry’_.

“Oh,” he breathed. Gilbert looked at him, confused, and then down at his hand, and Roderich couldn’t help his laughter when realization hit like an air horn. Gilbert took his hand and held it closer, traced the marks with a gentle touch, all the while gaping widely.

“That’s...” he started, finally looking back up at Roderich. “That’s awesome!”

He threw his arms around him, and Roderich returned the hug, practically glowing, even when Gilbert’s grip shifted and the face at his shoulder grew a little damp.

“It’s alright,” Roderich crooned, rubbing his back. “What’s the matter...?”

Gilbert shook his head, and pulled away, wiping at his eyes. “I just...” He sniffed, and signed the word _talking_.

Roderich smiled. _I understand_ , he signed.

Gilbert smiled back, and sighed, looking like the weight of the world was rolling off his shoulders.

 _Thank you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little bit of a storybook ending (?) but sometimes you just gotta write a happily ever after


End file.
